


Two Sides of Lonely

by Been_Winchestered



Category: Supernatural
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe, Angst, BAMF Jessica, Character Development, Codependency, Codependent Winchesters, F/M, Friendship, Gen, Het, Hunter Jessica, Hurt Dean Winchester, Hurt Jess, Hurt Sam Winchester, Hurt/Comfort, Jessica Moore Lives, Mystery, Preseries, Relationship(s), Resurrection, Road Trips, Stanford Era, Temporary Character Death, Women of Supernatural, classic spn, pilot AU, reference to drug overdose
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-13
Updated: 2017-12-24
Packaged: 2018-03-01 06:53:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 22,569
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2763803
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Been_Winchestered/pseuds/Been_Winchestered
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"...Sam hesitates for a moment, but he makes his choice.  He carries her out of the house, choking on the smoke. 'I’ll be right back, Jess. I have to help Dean,' he says, and runs back into the burning building..."</p><p>Jess barely survives the fire. Sam and Dean don’t make it out. She fears the Winchesters won't be the same if they are yanked out of the afterlife on someone else's terms. After all, human souls can only take so much before they get too twisted up.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Thanatophobia

**Author's Note:**

> The song that inspired the title: "Two Sides of Lonely", by The Lone Bellow
> 
> "Two sides of lonely  
> One is heart  
> One is duty  
> Two sides of lonely  
> One's in the grave, and the other should be"
> 
>  
> 
> Special thanks to danobanano and loanna66 for encouraging me when I posted the original ideas for this fic on tumblr.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thanatophobia: The fear of your own death or the loss of someone you love.

_He must have been so glad to be home when he flopped onto the bed with a sigh.  Normal.  Peaceful._

_Run, Sam. Get out. Live._

_She tries to call out to him, tries to warn him about the Thing in the corner of the room, but it isn’t until her blood drips onto his face - like a fucked up kind of baptism - that he opens his eyes and cries out.  The flames blossom around her and she can feel herself burning away, but she keeps her eyes locked on him._

_Live, Sam.  Just go._

_He doesn’t run.  He tries to reach her, but he can’t pull her down no matter what he does and the fire just keeps growing.  His brother bursts in, shouting his name and telling him it’s too late as flaming pieces of the ceiling fall to set fire to the carpet and the bed.  But the Thing uses its power to push him against the wall and up into the fire and she is released to fall into the flames of the bed._

_Sam hesitates for a moment, but he makes his choice.  He carries her out of the house, choking on the smoke.  “I’ll be right back, Jess.  I have to help Dean,” he says, and runs back into the burning building._

_Please, Sam.  Live._

Jess wakes from the dream and cries.  A nurse says some empty words to comfort her and gives her more drugs.  Then she falls back into the dream. 

* * *

 

Jess is hospitalized for three months.  Two, because of the severe burns all over her body and the wound in her abdomen, and one more because she keeps insisting that there was something evil in the apartment that had pinned her to the ceiling and killed her boyfriend and his brother.

The first month is rather uneventful, other than the pain, the risk of infection and the drugs.  Jess misses the funeral.  She isn’t even conscious during the weekend it occurs, but later she is told by many unwanted visitors that it was a wonderful tribute to Sam’s memory.  A quarter of the school’s students and more than half its faculty attended, including the president and the deans.  Other than Stanford friends and acquaintances, and Jess’ family, there were two men, Mr. Singer and Pastor Jim, who claimed to be family friends of the Winchesters.  Sam and Dean’s father never showed. 

Jess’s siblings, James and Emily, return home to Bakersfield several days after Jess gains consciousness.  Her father, who lives in San Francisco with his girlfriend, visits Jess several times a week.  Her mom hardly leaves her side.

A couple weeks later, Mr. Singer stops by the hospital and asks to speak with Jess, but she refuses to see him.  She refuses as many visitors as she can, although her mother often brings them in anyway.  Apparently, Mr. Singer didn’t make a good enough impression on Mom.  He leaves Jess a gift wrapped in brown paper with “From Bobby Singer” scrawled across the front in black sharpie.  It is added to the pile of other unwanted condolences.

Several cops come and question Jess, wanting to know how the fire started, but she can’t remember.  She had been baking and knew that Sam was on his way home.  The next thing she remembered was him lying on the bed, her blood dripping down onto his face, while the Thing watched from the corner of the room.  They give up on questioning her after that detail, considering her too unstable to be telling the truth.

During the second month, she is mostly told how incredibly well she is doing, considering the circumstances.  The doctors say she is lucky: her abdomen is healing well and she will probably have less scarring from the burns than anticipated.  No more bikinis, but someday, the scars would be nothing freakish.   The burns on her head aren’t as severe as the rest.  Her face will probably look normal within a year, especially while wearing concealer.  Her hair will grow back, eventually.

That’s the weirdest part, she thinks.  Her burned curls were chopped off and she was left with a patchy bandaged mess that doesn’t even cover her ears.  She has had long hair since she was a toddler.  She feels naked without it.

An FBI agent stops by to question Jess about the fire, during one of the rare hours that her mother is away.  He says that he knows that the official explanation is arson, but he wants her to tell him anything else he should know, no matter how unbelievable it might sound.  He seems sincere, so Jess tells him the truth, every nauseating detail she can remember.  The agent doesn't seem fazed.  He doesn't even seem surprised.  He thanks her for her time and gives her his phone number.  He never comes around again.  She misplaces the piece of paper with his number scrawled on it, but figures that doesn't matter anyway.

Not long after the visit from the FBI agent, a psychiatrist is brought in to evaluate Jess’ mental health.  After a couple of long talks about pain, grief and reality, the psychiatrist determines that Jess probably has PTSD, and that the story about the evil in the fire is a defense that her mind created because the truth is so terrible.  According to the psychiatrist, this is an absolutely understandable response, considering the circumstances.  She insists that Jess’ mom should not shame Jess for her story, because she will eventually let those delusions go as she heals.  Jess refuses the medication that the psychiatrist prescribes, except for the sleeping pill, because it sometimes keeps the nightmare away.  She is released at the end of January, on the condition that she continues to see a therapist.

Jess goes home to Bakersfield with her mom, taking an indefinite leave of absence from Stanford.  She wears long sleeves and pants to cover up the scars and beanies to hide her patchy hair. Although she goes to therapy appointments and her mom drags her to the shopping mall a few times because her clothes were lost in the fire, Jess stays at home as much as she can to avoid friends and strangers alike.  People stare and people pity and she wants none of that.  

At least, that is the explanation that she gives to the therapist and to her mom.  The truth is, she is beginning to remember more about the start of the fire.  Details are still very vague, but she knows that she let the Thing into the apartment herself.  It was wearing the face of someone she recognized.  Someone she trusted.  But who was it?  She isn’t sure that she wants to know.

Sometimes, when the nightmare returns and she is restless, she thinks about how she used to love walking at night.  Now she can’t even bear being home alone during the day.  She often feels like there is something watching her, waiting for the right moment to attack.

Very few personal possessions survived the fire.  Her shoes that had been outside the door.  A few dishes from the back of a cupboard.  None of their photos survived, but luckily she had copies of most of the photos from her first year with Sam saved to a thumb drive left in Bakersfield.  She looks at those photos every day, sometimes for hours.  She is afraid that if she doesn’t, her memory of Sam’s face will only be one of blood and fire.

Jess’s old Toyota was close enough to the house to be damaged by the fire.  It was left behind like the rest of her life at Stanford.  Dean’s Chevy was fine and was left in Palo Alto for his father to claim, but he never did, so Jess asks a friend to drive it down to Bakersfield at the end of February.  She hopes that maybe some of Sam’s possessions are left inside, but she lets the car sit in the driveway for days before she gets up the nerve to search it.

She stands in the driveway with her arms crossed and stares at the car for a few minutes before she unlocks the passenger door and climbs inside.  She shuts her eyes and inhales deeply, wishing she could sense Sam’s presence in some way.  She thinks she can smell the faint scent of his aftershave, but maybe she is just imagining it, or maybe Dean used the same one.  She notices Dean’s worn leather jacket is draped over the seat.  She leaves it alone.

 After a minute, she opens the glove compartment.  Inside, she finds a rather vicious looking bowie knife, several cell phones, a worn cigar box and an old journal.  The cigar box is full of fake I.Ds and badges with Dean’s face and lame rock n’ roll pseudonyms.  _What the hell?_ Maybe the Winchester family business isn’t as boring - or legal - as Sam implied.  She sets the box aside, withholding her judgment, and flips through the journal, thinking that it’s probably Dean’s, but maybe he wrote something about Sam.  Instead, it’s full of occult symbols, pictures of monsters, newspaper clippings, passages of Latin and brief descriptions of someone’s travels, with dates going back nearly twenty-two years.  “What the fuck,” she says aloud.

There isn’t much in the back seat, other than a duffle bag of what appears to be Dean’s clothes and other personal effects, but she finds a little army man jammed into one of the ashtrays.  When she looks at it, Sam comes to mind, but she leaves it alone, feeling like it is a part of the car that shouldn’t be removed.  Under the seats, she finds another bowie knife and some fast food wrappers, along with a torn cardboard box full worn cassette tapes.  Led Zeppelin, Metallica, Motorhead, and more Zeppelin.  _Well, Dean loved his mullet rock, just like Sam said_ , she thinks.

She opens the trunk, expecting to find a spare tire, more luggage or maybe a tool box.  Instead she finds more occult symbols, several bags of rock salt, a jug of water with a rosary inside of it, a can of kerosene, a couple shovels, and a locked compartment underneath it all.  _Weird. So where is the key?_

It’s not on the set of keys she has, so she searches the pockets of Dean’s jacket, and it feels like she is robbing his body.  She finds gas station receipts, a lighter, and his wallet.  The wallet has more fake I.Ds, fake credit cards, a wad of cash and a key that looks like it might belong to that trunk compartment.  But more importantly, in Dean’s wallet there are photos of Sam. 

The first is a school portrait, dated 1998.  Sam was fifteen years old.  Jess has never seen a picture of him so young.  He looks lanky and boyish, reminding her of a puppy that hasn’t quite grown into its feet and ears.  But his smile is familiar, all dimples and charm.  _He’d be so embarrassed that I saw this_ , she thinks, and then realizes she is crying. 

The second photo is more low-fi and candid.  It takes her a minute to figure it out, but she realizes that it is Sam at an even younger age - maybe eight or nine – being taught to shoot a rifle by a man she guesses is his dad.  Sam isn’t smiling in this one.  Jess thinks he probably wasn’t having fun that day.  She can’t imagine him killing anything, not even a squirrel, if he was dragged along on a hunting trip.  Sam was the kind of guy who caught spiders and released them outside instead of whacking them with a shoe.

She carefully tucks the pictures into the journal, rubs her eyes dry with her sleeve, and turns her attention back to the trunk.

Sure enough, the key unlocks the compartment, and she shoves aside the shovels and rock salt to lift the metal lid.  The contents are every kind of weapon imaginable.  Guns, ranging from handguns to sawn off shotguns and even a disassembled sniper’s rifle.  At least twenty different blades of all shapes and sizes.  She shuts and locks the compartment, rather than examining the weirder objects stored in the back.  She doesn't want to know.

  _What the hell was wrong with Dean?_ She wonders.  _Sam said his father and brother were rough around the edges, but he never mentioned crazy.  So what were they, hit men?  Crazy redneck assassins?_ She can’t imagine Sam killing anything, but she is beginning to understand that there was a lot about Sam that she didn’t know.  She slams the trunk shut and stares at the car for a moment before the realization comes together in her head.  _Oh my God, it’s all connected.  All this occult shit and the Thing in the fire._ Her stomach feels sick, her heart is pounding _._ She quickly grabs the journal, locks up the car, and runs back into the house.

That night, she reads the journal from cover to cover several times, and finally understands why Sam was always so hesitant to speak about his family.  His mother Mary died in a nursery fire, pinned to the ceiling, and his father John had set out to hunt down the thing that had killed her.  Sam’s whole life before college was spent on the road, in pursuit of his mother’s killer and every other kind of fucked up creature imaginable. 

That’s why he never went home during breaks and never wanted to talk about his family or his childhood, but he was so quick to leave with his estranged brother to find the father that had disowned him.  Sam knew “Dad’s on a hunting trip…and he hasn't been home in a few days” really meant _Dad is on another suicide mission._

And then the Thing that killed his mom returned to do the same to his girlfriend.  Sam and Dean knew exactly what was in that fire, _but they ran in anyway._

_Sam, why didn’t you tell me the truth?  We might not have been taken by surprise.  You might have lived._

Jess doesn't sleep that night.

* * *

 

By the time the sun begins to rise, Jess has made up her mind.  She needs to find John Winchester.  When Dean first appeared in the apartment, he implied that John was missing.  But judging from the journal, Jess thinks that might not be completely true.  It’s much easier to say “Dad is missing” than it is to say “Dad needs help killing werewolves”.  Whatever the truth was, it was lost in the fire, along with everything else.

  She digs through the pile of unwanted get well gifts in the corner of her room until she finds the one with Bobby Singer’s name scrawled across the front.  He was mentioned briefly in several of the journal entries; maybe what he gave her is important.  Maybe he knows where John is.

Jess packs clothes and essential items into a couple bags, tosses them into the backseat of Dean’s car, and drives off.  She has no idea where John Winchester might be, but it almost doesn’t matter.  She can figure that out once she has put several hundred miles between herself and Bakersfield.  Whatever that Thing is, she can’t sit and wait for to come for her and her family.  Maybe she can’t save herself, but at least they will be safe.

She sees her mother and her brother briefly in the rearview mirror, running out into the driveway with shocked expressions on their faces.She regrets leaving so abruptly, but what else is she supposed to do?  If she told the truth, she’d be locked in a psychiatric ward by lunch time.

She drives east for three hours before she pulls off of the interstate and stops at a bank.  She transfers all of the money from her checking account and the savings account her father created for her college career into a new checking account and withdraws several hundred dollars in cash.  Her school loans will catch up with her one day, she knows, but she has more pressing issues now.

She stops at a gas station to fill the tank and buy a track phone and a cup of coffee.  She has her own phone with her (It’s the replacement her father bought her after she got out of the hospital, so it doesn’t feel like hers), but she keeps it off, to avoid being traced.  There are probably more things she needs to do to avoid being tracked down by her family - or worse, the cops - but other than paying in cash for everything, she doesn't know. 

It isn’t until she is headed back to the car and overhears a child asking her mother “what’s wrong with that lady’s face?”, that Jess realizes that she has temporarily forgotten about the scars.  She is still wearing her beanie, of course, but she hasn't thought about her appearance since she first unlocked Dean’s car.  But now her embarrassment is returning, and the familiar awful feeling of being watched creeps over her.  _What am I doing out in public?  Hell, why did I even drive out here?  This is crazy._ She wants to go home, apologize to her mom and crawl into bed to hide from the world and the monsters that haunt it.

 But when she gets into Dean’s car, and inhales the scent of that aftershave that is probably all Dean but – she imagines, she hopes – is a bit of Sam too, memories of Sam briefly flash through her mind.  How excited he was about his interview before Dean appeared in the middle of the night.  All the times he had talked about his plans and hopes for the future.  When she brought him cookies during long study sessions in the basement of the library.  Their first kiss.  Their last kiss. 

Then she thinks about what it must have been like for Sam, growing up in that car with his brother and his father.  Her mind turns to the contents of the journal in the glove box, and Sam’s expression when her blood had dripped onto his face, and she knows she is doing the right thing.

Before she leaves the parking lot, she opens Singer’s gift.  It’s a leather bound journal with some sort of pentagram on the front, and Singer has inscribed a note on the first page: 

_“Jessica,_

_I intended to give this to Sam several years ago, but I never saw him after he left for school.  I think he would want you to have it. Take care of yourself and call me if you ever need anything._

_Bobby Singer”_

He included his contact information at the bottom of the page.

She dials the number into the track phone three times, and each time it goes to voicemail.  On the fourth try, she finally leaves a message.  “Hi, Mr. Singer?  This is Jessica Moore…Sam’s girlfriend.  Thank you, for the journal, it’s uh, really nice.  I’m sure Sam would have liked it.  I was wondering, could you give me John Winchester’s contact information?  I have Dean’s car and some of his things, and I thought John might want them.  My number is 650-555-8193. Thanks.”

She tunes the radio until she hears something country and drives east, putting as many miles between herself and Bakersfield as she can.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Comments are appreciated :)


	2. Bad Urban Legend

_Tyson Brady grabs her arm and pulls her through the crowded house, his solo cup sloshing in his other hand._

_“Hey Sam!” he shouts above the music. “Sam, get over here! I’ve got to introduce you!”_

_One of the guys across the room looks up and then comes over with dubious look on his face._

_“Jess,” Brady says, motioning to his friend, “This is the dashing Mr. Sam Winchester. Pre-law. Single. Freakin’ tall.”_

_“And Sam,” he says, putting an arm around his friend’s shoulder and motioning to Jess. “This is the beautiful Miss Jessica Moore. Also Pre-law. Also single. Fantastic baker.”_

_“Brady…” Jess begins to scold, but he cuts her off._

_“Now, go fall in love you two,” he says with a grin, downs the rest of his drink, and disappears into the crowd._

_Jess is always a little concerned for Brady and his drinking habits, but she is surprised that he is already drunk enough to pull a stunt like this. He wasn’t always like that, but since the previous semester, he has become a totally different person._

_Sam shrugs apologetically and Jess notices the dimples in his smile._

_“Sorry,” he says. “Brady is…”_

_“A hell of a mess, I know,” Jess finishes. “Sophomore?”_

_“Yeah,” he replies._

_“Me too. Weren’t you in Jenkins’s Biology I?”_ Ugh, he’s cute, _she thinks._ Too bad Brady just ruined any chance…

_“Yeah, I thought I recognized you,” he says._

_“I thought I was never going to get through that final,” she continues, certain that the topic is fizzling out._

_“Yeah…”_

_They stand awkwardly for a moment, unsure of how to revive the conversation._

_“Well, it was nice meeting you,” she begins to say, but Sam speaks up first._

_“Honestly, I’m not really into parties. Why don’t we go do something fun together?” He asks mischievously._

_“Like what?” She’s intrigued._

_“Well, the theater – you know, the old one with the murals on the outside? They have midnight showings of classic movies.  Two dollars off with a Stanford I.D. and it’s within walking distance.”_

_Maybe it’s the alcohol in her blood, or the dimples in his smile, but something makes Jess feel bold._

_“Sure.”_

_“Really?”_

_“Yeah, let’s go.”_

_Brady points and cheers from across the room as they leave together, causing a few heads to turn.  Rumors might spread like wild fire, but Jess doesn’t care._

* * *

 

Jess answers the phone on the first ring and pulls the car onto the side of the road, somewhere near St. George, Utah.

“Hello?”

“Hello Jessica, this is Bobby Singer.”

“Hi Mr. Singer, I’m so glad you called me back.”

“Please, call me Bobby. You said you have Dean’s car, and his things?”

“Yeah, I was hoping to get them back to John Winchester. I need to find him. Could you give me his contact information?”

He hesitates and then says, “John Winchester isn’t the kind of man you just call up.”

“I know, but this is important, I mean--”

“If he wanted Dean’s car, he would have come and got it himself. The bastard didn’t even show up for his own boys’ funeral, why would he want the car?”

“The truth is…I don’t’ care if he wants the car. I’m going to hunt down the thing that killed Sam.”

 “Do you even realize what you are getting into?” Bobby’s tone is more than angry.

“Yes.”

“I don’t think you do.”

“I found John’s journal, in the dash of Dean’s car…and his knife collection.”

 “Then you know that those boys were raised to be hunters.  It was the only life they knew. If they couldn’t take that Thing down, what makes you think you can?”

 “You told me to call you if I needed anything. I need John Winchester’s phone number,” Jess says firmly.

She expects him to hang up, but instead he sighs and says, “Fine.  But if he doesn’t pick up, or he doesn’t take the car, you drive it up to my place in South Dakota, you hear?”

“Sure.”

* * *

 

After a less than restful stop at cheap motel in Denver, Jess hits the road again. She turns her phone on: 17 text messages, 20 missed calls and three voicemails.  She turns it off without reading or listening to any of them. It’s better this way, she feels, to just go missing, rather than explaining all the crazy.

She calls John Winchester’s cell twenty-five times throughout the day and leaves two voicemail messages. _If he wasn’t even answering for Dean, why would he answer for me? He might even be dead._ She considers giving up and calling Bobby back, but she isn’t willing to admit defeat so quickly. She’ll give it a few days, and if she can’t get John on the phone or find out where he was last seen on her own, she’ll call Bobby.

Off the top of her head, Lawrence, Kansas seems to be as good a destination as any. As long as she is heading east, she feels that she is headed in the right direction: away from Bakersfield and away from Palo Alto. Lawrence was where Sam’s family lived before his mother died. Jess wonders if there are things that John left out of his journal that she needs to know, things she could discover in Lawrence.

The hitchhiker is standing near the off ramp of an exit that has no identifiable markers other than an abandoned gas station and the remains of a fast food joint that must have been burned out decades ago. Otherwise, empty farm land is all there is for miles on the stretch of road between Goodland and Colby, Kansas. As a rule, Jess never considers offering rides to strangers, but she has never even seen a female hitchhiker before. 

 _Most of other vehicles on this empty stretch are commercial trucks_ , she thinks as she passes the hitchhiker. _Will any of them even stop for her?_   _And even if someone does, will she be safe? I sort of have an obligation to pull over, right? Besides, if I’m going to make it on my own like this I have to be able to interact with other people without fearing them. I might as well start now._

Jess pulls over, several dozen yards ahead of the woman standing at the exit. She glances at her reflection in the rear-view mirror. _Ugh, I don’t look like someone I’d trust for a lift. I look like the beginning of a bad urban legend._ She rolls her window down and turns off the radio as the hitchhiker jogs up.

“Thanks for pulling over!” the woman says when she reaches the window. She’s wearing a dark red jacket that looks light for the cold weather. Otherwise, she seems pretty normal. No obvious signs of drug addiction or homelessness. In fact, her platinum blonde pixie cut and hiking boots look like quite an investment. _She’s probably just an adventurous yuppie._

“No problem,” Jess replies. “How far are you going?”

“How far are you willing to take me?”

Jess shrugs. “Kansas City.” She isn’t even sure why she lied. _I g_ _uess I’m just cautious. Wait, is Kansas City before or after Lawrence? Did I just fuck up?_

“I’m headed to Lawrence, so that’s fine, I guess,” the hitchhiker says, but she doesn’t move toward the passenger side. She just stands there with her hand on her hip and scrutinizes the car.

“So are you coming or not?” Jess asks. “I’d hate to leave you out here, there’s nothing for miles.” _Did she actually walk here from Goodland or whatever the last town was? That was a while ago..._

“To be honest, I’m relieved that you’re female but still…”

“What?”

“…you could be some kind of freak,” the hitchhiker finishes. Jess isn’t sure if her tone is meant to be insulting or vaguely flirtatious.

 _A freak?  You have no idea._ “Yeah, I guess my appearance is less than reassuring,” she responds sarcastically.

“No, I mean, it’s this old black car,” the hitchhiker says, walking around to the passenger side. “You could fit a couple bodies in that trunk, you know.”

“Funny.” _Seriously? She has a point, but what a creepy thing to say…_

“Meg,” the woman says when she settles into the passenger’s seat and shuts the door.

“Jessica.” Before she even pulls back onto the road, Jess feels ill at ease. She knows she has made a mistake.

“So why hitchhiking?” she asks after several minutes, to break the silence.

“Why not?” Meg says with a shrug. “I want to see the world.”

 _Yeah, she’s definitely a yuppie_. “And Lawrence is on your list of destinations?”

“Well, it’s a stop along the way. I’m from Boston and I’m making my way back. You’ve got Kansas plates but you aren’t a Kansan, are you? Why the road trip?”

“My friend passed away. I’m returning his car to family.” _I have got to get better at lying._

“Oh, sorry,” Meg says, although she doesn’t sound sorry. “What happened?”

Jess hesitates. “It’s uh, kind of personal.”

“Right.”

Jess tries to focus on driving, rather than giving her attention to the stranger in the passenger seat or the memories flashing through her head.

After a while, Meg speaks up again. “I didn’t mean to pry, I just like to hear people’s stories, you know?”

Jess sighs. _It’s like my first day of therapy all over again._ “There was a fire in my apartment. My boyfriend got me out, but he and his brother didn’t make it. This was his brother’s car.”

“That’s terrible. So you’re driving it out to Kansas City for…?”

“Their dad, if I can get a hold of him. He won’t answer his phone.”

“…You say that like you think he’s not answering on purpose.”

“Well, he didn’t go to the funeral so…”

“His children died and he didn’t even show up for the funeral?” Meg gasps. “What a jerk!”

Jess shrugs. “I don’t’ really know his circumstances –“

“Doesn’t matter the circumstances, skipping your own children’s funeral just isn’t right.”

“Yeah, but –“

“I mean, how did the fire start?”

“The cops think it was arson.” _I’ve said way too much._

“Arson? What if their dad set the fire and that’s why he wasn’t at the funeral?” There is something fake in the way she asks the question. She seems almost too eager.

“You know, this actually isn’t a conversation I want to have with a stranger,” Jess says. She can feel a lump forming in her throat, but it’s made of anger, not just sadness. She turns the radio back on. The station has faded out so she tunes until she hears music again. It’s Arcade Fire, one of Sam’s favorite bands. She turns it off.

“Sorry,” Meg says, although she still sounds insincere. She pulls an iPod out of her pocket, turning it up loud enough that Jess can hear the muffled buzz of hardcore bleeding out from the headphones. She props her feet up on the dash and stares out the window. Jess is relieved that her passenger hasn’t continued to push the conversation. 

They don’t speak again until they reach Lawrence, several hours later, when Meg points out a motel where she wants to be dropped off. 

“Yeah, this one doesn’t look too roachy,” she says, tucking her iPod into her jacket pocket as Jess turns into the parking lot. “But even if it is, at least I can make a call. Thanks for the lift.”

“No problem,” Jess says. She sighs in relief when Meg slams the door and walks off. _Never picking up a hitchhiker again,_ she thinks as she pulls out of the parking lot.

* * *

 

Jess drives across town, looking for another motel. Tired of the radio, she reaches under the seat for Dean’s cassette collection, and pulls out Led Zeppelin’s _Physical Graffiti_. She picks out a few more tapes and puts them in the dash for later. That’s when she notices the old cell phones. She had completely forgotten about them. She pulls over.

She picks the one that looks the most worn, guessing it was Dean’s main phone, and checks the contacts: “Bobby”, "Blonde from Nebraska", “Caleb”, “Cassie”, “Dad” (The number Bobby gave her), “Dad’s other cell”, “Dad’s other other cell”, “Pastor Jim”, “Sammy". The battery on the phone is low, but she dials “Dad’s other other cell” anyway.

The call is answered on the second ring, by a voice that sounds painfully similar to Sam’s, only older and rougher. “Dean?”

“Uh, no. This is Jessica Moore. We need to talk.”

There is a pause on the end of the line, and then, “Are you in some kind of trouble?”

“No, I’m fine, but I have Dean’s Chevy and some of his things and I thought you might want them. I wish I could give you something of Sam’s, but all I have are some pictures.”

“No, you hold onto those things for Dean, okay?” John says. He sounds distracted.

“John, you do know that Dean and Sam…they died in a fire back in November.”

“I know.”

A longer pause.

“Okay,” Jess says carefully. “You had me worried for a second. Listen, I found your journal in Dean’s dash. I know what you really do, why you weren’t at the funeral. I know you are hunting down the Thing that killed your family. I want to help.”

“I can’t give you hunting lessons.”

“But-“

“You just stay out of trouble and keep rock salt and holy water on hand, okay? And when you see them, tell my boys…”

“-What do you mean when I see-“

“Tell Sam and Dean -“

 _Oh God, he’s lost his mind_. “John,” Jess says, “They’re dead!  Sam and Dean are dead!”

The battery of Dean’s phone is almost drained. The warning beep prevents Jess from hearing most of what John says.

“I don’t have much more time, Jessica, but Sam and Dean will  -------  ------ ----- tell them Dan -------  ---- ----- gun made by Samuel Col ----  ---- ----- can  kill the bastard. Tell my boys I’m  ----- of them. Real proud.”

“I’m having trouble hearing you. Listen, if you are thinking of doing something rash-“

He hangs up.

"Fuck!"

She tries to redial, but the phone dies. She calls him again using the track phone and her personal phone, but he doesn’t answer.

Jess drops the phone and buries her face in her arms, leaning on the steering wheel. After everything she read in that journal, resurrection shouldn’t be a surprising addition to the long list of crazy. But was that really what John meant?

Jess doesn’t feel hopeful, she feels sick.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for reading! Comments and kudos are cool ;)


	3. No Joy or Relief

Bobby has a beer in one hand and Rumsfeld’s food dish in the other when one of the phones on the wall begins to ring. He sets the dish down for the dog that has been circling him impatiently and answers.

“Singer’s Salvage.”

“Hi Bobby, this is Jess.”

“Jessica,” Bobby says. “Is something wrong?”

“I spoke with John Winchester.” 

“He wasn’t what you were expecting, huh? Hell, I’m surprised he answered.”

“He only answered because he thought it was Dean calling.” 

“He thought what?” Bobby nearly drops his beer.   _John’s obsessed and eccentric like most hunters, but he’s not crazy,_ he thinks. _He knows dead means dead._

“I used one of Dean’s phones and John thought it was him calling. I think it’s the only reason he picked up. He said he knew they were dead, but Bobby, he talked like they were alive!  Like I was going to see them soon but he wouldn’t have a chance -”

“- Balls!” _John loved those boys, but he wouldn’t…would he?_

“-You don’t think it could be true, do you? It’s not possible, it can’t be.”

Bobby is tempted to lie to her. He could tell her it’s all bullshit and maybe she would go home to her family and get on with her life. But he doesn’t lie, he can’t. “It ain’t common, but yeah, it’s possible. Maybe. But we’re talking about something really evil here, not some Lazarus miracle.”

“Sam could really be alive?” Her voice sounds fragile and hoarse, Bobby notices. She must have been crying quite a lot.

“Or God knows what,” Bobby adds quickly. “Depends on your definition of alive.”

“Oh God. Does that mean-”

“- Now, hold on a second, you said John thought you were going to see the boys, but he wouldn’t?”

“Yeah, he said he didn’t have much time.”

“Shit. Listen, Jessica, I’m gonna look into this. Did he say anything else?”

“Something about keeping rock salt and holy water on hand, whatever that means. He said something else too, but the phone was dying and I didn’t catch all of it. Dan has a gun made by a guy named Samuel…Cole, maybe? Does that ring a bell?”

“Not really, but I’ll look into that too. Do you have any idea where John might be?”

“No, I don’t.”

“Well, I’ve got a friend who might be able to trace his phone, but I doubt John would leave the GPS on.”

“Will you let me know if you find him?”

”Yep. You still bringing that car up to my place?”

“Maybe. I have something I need to do first.”

“Jessica, listen to me very carefully. Don’t you dare go looking for Sam and Dean – or for John.  Whatever this is, it’s bad. Real bad.”

He expects her to scoff at his warning and voice all the determination and spirit she’d had before, but instead she just says “Okay”, and that’s even worse.

“I mean it,” he says, knowing he isn’t getting through to her.

“I know. Thank you, Bobby. Bye.” She hangs up.

“Balls!”

Bobby slams the phone down, thinks for a minute, and then then picks it up again to dial.

“Roadhouse, this is Ellen.”

“Hey Ellen, how are you?”

“Same as always. What d’you need, Singer?”

“I need to talk to Ash.”

“Sure thing,” she says, and then Bobby can hear her shouting “Ash! Phone call!” away from the phone.

“Doctor Badass, speaking,” Ash drawls, after a moment.

Bobby rolls his eyes. “Ash, this is Bobby Singer. I need your help.”

“Hey Bobby!  What can I do for you?”

After Bobby and Ash come up with a plan to track down John Winchester, Bobby begins to dig through the books piled on the shelves in his living room. 

There are several crazy stunts that John could have pulled to bring his boys back from the dead:  old world necromancy, harnessing reapers, voodoo zombification, and probably several other things Bobby hasn’t even heard of. But none of that seems like John Winchester’s style. Most likely, John made a deal with a demon, at the cost of his own soul. Besides, what else could _“keep rock salt and holy water on hand”_ mean, other than demons?

Eventually, Bobby sits down at his desk with several dusty books and a half-empty bottle of whiskey. _God, I hope this ain’t true. Those boys deserved better than to be yanked out of the afterlife on someone else’s terms._

* * *

 

There is no sudden revelation triggered by being in Lawrence, or even a feeling of relief or accomplishment. Jess stops for gas and stretches her legs.

A quick search in the local library archive reveals where the Winchester’s former home is located. There are several newspaper articles about the fire and one lists the address. At first, Jess just drives by to get a glance, but then she turns around and gets up the nerve to park on the street in front of the house.

It’s the kind of home Sam wanted, a big cozy house with a big lawn and good climbing trees. He used to dream up their future while he laid beside her in the dark, and it always included a home equal to the one across the street from her now. She wonders how much of Sam’s plans were simply inspired by what he had lost.

After a few minutes, a woman looks out the upstairs window of the house, clearly noticing the strange black car parked out front. Jess decides that it’s time to move on before the neighborhood watch is notified.

She finds a motel, gets a room with a kitchenette, and then drives to the nearest grocery store. Sick of subsisting on cheap diner food and caffeine, she plans on cooking herself something healthy. As she walks the aisles of the store, she pines for her little notebook of recipes that was lost in the fire, and that makes her think of Sam.

She’d heard the often repeated saying about the way to a man’s heart, but Sam looked at every meal she made as though he’d never had a homemade meal before. Even if she just packed him a sandwich for lunch. He didn’t just appreciate those little things, he _treasured_ them. 

Her mind turns back to what Bobby said as she stands at the checkout. “ _We’re talking about something really evil here, not some Lazarus miracle_ … _It depends on your definition of alive…”_

If Sam was brought back to life, would he still be himself? Would he still treasure the things he treasured before?

As Jess crosses the parking lot, she sees a woman standing next to Dean’s car. Her arms are folded and she looks as if she’s been waiting for a while.

 _Shit,_ Jess thinks as she approaches. _Does she think I scratched her car or something?_

“Jessica Moore”, the stranger says, “You’re thoughts are so troubled and loud that I could hear them clear across town.”

Jess hesitates.

“I’m a friend of the Winchesters. My name is Missouri. I’m a psychic.”

* * *

 

Surprisingly, Missouri’s house isn’t weird. It doesn’t reek of incense or have weird tapestries on the walls. There is no neon psychic palm sign in the window. It’s actually sort of quaint and a little bit like Jess’s grandmother’s house. She feels comfortable, even if she is determined to be cautious.

“I’m so sorry about the boys,” Missouri says, bringing Jess a glass of sweet tea from the kitchen. “I haven’t seen them since they were little, but I hoped they would turn out okay. 22 years ago, John Winchester showed up at my door in a similar state as you are in now. His wife had been killed, he had two very young boys to look out for and he had no idea what to do. I helped him the best I could.”

“His journal says that he went to you and learned the truth,” Jess says.

“I told him what killed Mary.”

“What was it?” 

“A demon.  A very powerful one,” Missouri says solemnly.

 _A straight from hell, servant of Satan, demon?  Really?_ Jess thinks, forgetting that her thoughts are practically on a loudspeaker.

“Yes, straight from hell. I believe it’s the same one that came for you.”

“What would a demon want with us?” Jess asks.

“I really don’t know, honey.  But tell me, are Sam and Dean dead or alive? Your thoughts seem pretty uncertain.”

Jess sighs. “I really don’t know, honestly. John Winchester seems to think that they are.”

“Well, I know of a couple ways that we can check for sure.”

* * *

 

Several days go by and Bobby doesn’t hear from Ash, but he does get another call from Jessica Moore.  She is driving up to South Dakota and wants his address. He gives it her and by midnight she is pulling into the salvage yard in that familiar old Impala. 

She won’t get out of the car until Bobby calls off Rumsfeld, who’s barking and running back and forth along the driver’s side. The dog isn’t showing aggression, he’s just excited. _He knows who is supposed to be in that car,_ Bobby thinks sadly. _He’s known those boys since he was a puppy._

“Hello Jessica,” Bobby says when he’s got Rumsfeld sitting at his side and Jess finally steps out of the car, slinging a backpack over her shoulder. Her face looks less scarred up than he expected, but he knows she isn’t wearing that hat and sweatshirt just because it’s March.

She just stares at him for a moment, and he beings to think she might get back in the car and drive off.

“You’re the FBI agent,” she blurts out, “from the hospital!?”

 _Oh hell._ “Yeah, I’m the FBI agent from the hospital.  But –“

“Seriously, what the hell –“

“Listen, I can explain,” Bobby says. “I wasn’t just in California for the funeral. I was investigating the fire. I tried to visit you in the hospital but your mother turned me away. So I came back with my FBI persona when she wasn’t around. It was standard hunter’s procedure, I promise.”

Jessica stands with her arms crossed, as if she doesn’t trust his answer at all. She looks around the salvage yard, and then at the house, before she speaks again.

“So, have you found John yet?”

“No. I’ve got a friend working on it though.”

“Do you think Sam and Dean are alive?”

“Honestly, I hope not.” He hates to say it, but it’s true.

Jessica sighs. “I met a woman in Lawrence, Kansas who says that they are.”

 _What the hell did this kid get herself into now?_ “Okay, why don’t you come on inside and we’ll about this over a drink.”

She nods and follows him into the house.

“You hungry?” Bobby asks, as they enter the kitchen.

She glances around at the faded wallpaper and the dusty cluttered shelves and then shakes her head. Bobby pulls a couple beers from the fridge and they sit down at the kitchen table.

“So, what were you doing in Lawrence?” Bobby asks.

“I wanted to know more about Sam and what happened to his family,” Jessica says quietly. “I figured Lawrence was the place to start.”

“And you happened to run into a woman who claimed that she’s recently seen the Winchester boys alive and well?”

“Not exactly. I stopped at a grocery store, and this woman found me there. She claimed she was a psychic and that John Winchester visited her not long after Mary died.”

“What’s her name?”

“Missouri Mosely.”

“And you believed her?”

“I tested her, had her tell me what I was thinking. She knew the name of my second grade teacher, my former roommate’s favorite band and how many cats my grandmother has. I mean, if all this occult shit is real, then psychics are a thing, right?”

“Yeah, I know of a few,” Bobby says, “but I’ve met of plenty of charlatans too.”

“Well, I checked John’s journal and her story checks out, it’s just that John didn’t specify that ‘Missouri’ was a person and not the state. Anyway, she invited me to visit her home so she could tell me about what happened when Mary died and John started hunting…and to talk about where Sam and Dean are.”

“And?”

“Most of what she told me was already in the journal. But she said a demon killed Mary, a powerful one, and that she thinks it killed Sam and Dean too.”

Bobby tenses. “I had a feeling that this was all demon-related.”

Jess nods and continues, “But Missouri told me that there were ways to reach out to the spirits of the dead.”

“Like what, a séance?”

“Yeah, she tried a séance, to reach out to Sam. Nothing happened. She tried to reach Dean and there was still nothing. She said that might be a sign they are alive, or maybe they were unable to respond, but that if you cast a name into the void, the spirits who know it will say it back to you.”

“So that didn’t work either?” Bobby asks.

“No, she said both their names into the void and the whole fucking house shook when the response came back. Cracked two windows in her sitting room.”

 “Well, hunters interact with a hell of a lot of spirits. Dean and Sam killed plenty of ghosts over the years.”

“Missouri said spirits only respond to _living_ names,” Jess insists.

“And she was sure of that?” Bobby asks, determined to remain a skeptic.

“Absolutely.” There’s no joy or relief in her tone, just dreadful assurance.

 Bobby is relieved that nobody turned the boys into thralls or zombies, but he can’t bring himself to take the revelation as good news. What’s dead should stay dead, and if the Winchester boys really are back in the world, there is no telling how changed they might be. There is a horrible chance that the whole mess will come down to putting bullets in their heads or worse.

“Did Missouri have any idea where they might be?” he asks.

Jessica shakes her head. “They were buried in Palo Alto.”

“Wherever they woke up, they wouldn’t stay there for long.”

“But they wouldn’t have a car.”

“Then they’d steal one,” Bobby replies, and he can tell by the expression on her face that Jessica is still getting to know who the Winchesters really are.

“And drive where?” Jessica wonders.

Bobby considers the question.  “Knowing Dean, the first thing he would want to do is find his car.”

“That would lead them to my mom’s house.”

“And I’m assuming that’s the first place Sam would want to go anyway. To find you, right?”

“I hope so.” The lack of conviction in her voice concerns Bobby.

“What do mean, you hope so?”

She stares at the floor for a moment before she speaks.  “I don’t know. I guess I’m afraid that if Sam was... _resurrected_ , he might not be the same person he was before.”

 _Poor kid. At least she doesn’t have her hopes up_ , Bobby thinks. “That is possible,” he says. “Human souls can only take so much before they get all twisted up.”

“They might have to die twice over,” she says quietly. “That’s just fucked up.”

Bobby sighs in agreement, and then says, “Why don’t you stay the night, and we’ll figure out what we are going to do in the morning, okay?”

Jess considers the suggestion for a moment and then agrees. Bobby leads her upstairs to the guest bedroom.

“The boys would stay here for weeks at a time when they were younger,” he says. “That was before John and I had a falling out. Anyway, this was their room when they were here.”

Jess doesn’t respond other than saying thanks and shutting the bedroom door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! :D


	4. Missing Persons

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait! This is the correct version of the chapter!

_Sam studies harder than anyone Jess has ever met. His grades are nearly flawless and he is always in the library, unless he is working at the sandwich shop up the road from the campus. She teases him sometimes, saying “I think you like books more than you like me.” His response is usually a laugh and a shrug._

_Jess has good grades, but she also has a social life. It amazes her that she actually met Sam at a party, since he apparently lives in the library. He even has a work study position there as a research assistant. As the semester comes to a close, she begins to worry. All the hard work is clearly taking its toll on his well-being. He looks exhausted and he isn’t even planning on going home during vacation. She feels like she hardly gets to see him, other than at lunch in the cafeteria and their occasional movie dates. Does he even take study breaks?_

_She starts bringing him snacks, or comes up with other excuses to stop by his desk. When she has to, she brings her own homework and studies along with him. He’s usually somewhere on the second floor, with books and papers piled around his laptop. Sometimes she tries to sneak up on him, but he is surprisingly aware of his surroundings, considering he is such a bookworm._

_She likes him more than she is willing to admit to anyone, but worries that he just isn’t catching on. Two weeks before finals, she finally has the nerve to do something about it._

_She drops by as she usually does, and sets a paper bag of homemade cookies and a couple apples on his desk, but she doesn’t sit down._

_“Hey Sam, could you help me with something? There’s a book I need that I can’t quite reach.”_

_“Sure,” he says, and follows her to the back shelves of the second floor._

_“Which one is it?” he asks, glancing at the top shelf that is obviously within her reach, and then back at her.  She just shakes her head._

_She stands on tiptoe to kiss him, gently pushing him back against the shelf. Surprised, he fumbles at first, and then starts to smirk before he really kisses her back._

_“The Russian History section, really?” he says, when she finally pulls away._

_She laughs and he kisses her again._

* * *

 

The nightmare comes again and Jess wakes with a start. The morning light filters through the curtains and she glances around the room that she hadn’t bothered looking at the night before.  She doesn’t notice anything that sets it apart as Sam’s or Dean’s until she spies a few comic books and novels stacked on a shelf beneath the window, covered in a layer of dust. The copy of _Treasure Island_ has “S.W” written on the binding.

Her curiosity is peaked and she gets up to look around for other things. A worn AC/DC shirt lies on the floor of the empty closet.  It’s most likely Dean’s, although he had definitely outgrown it a long time ago. There is also a little army man by the lamp on the bedside table. It matches the one she saw jammed into the ashtray of Dean’s car and again, it reminds her of Sam.

Downstairs, a screen door slams and the dog barks outside. Jess pulls her jeans on and pockets the plastic soldier. She starts to head downstairs when she remembers her choppy hair and goes back for her beanie.

The phone rings in the kitchen and Bobby picks it up.

“Singer’s Salvage. Any leads on John Winchester?” Jess hears him say as she enters the kitchen. He gives her a nod as she sits down at the kitchen table.

“What d’you mean, turn on CNN? Oh _hell no_ …” He goes into the living room and turns on the television.

“…This morning police arrested a man suspected of murdering 13 people in St. Louis,” Jess overhears.  “Dean Winchester, age 26, broke into the home of…”

“What the hell!?” She says and runs into the living room to see Dean’s face _– Dean’s mugshot –_ on the screen.

“Shh,” Bobby says, waving her off.

“…there was a twenty minute standoff before Winchester was disarmed and taken into police custody….”

“Oh God,” Jess says, slowly sitting down on the couch.

“Now hold on, don’t jump to conclusions,” Bobby says, turning off the TV. “Sometimes something goes wrong and hunters get blamed for things they didn’t do…”

Jess isn’t listening; she’s just staring at the blank screen. _Dean’s alive…They’re both alive… Dean’s a killer...They’re both killers…Sam…._

“Bobby? You still there?” Bobby realizes he still has the phone in his hand.

“Yeah, I’m still here, Ash,” he says. “Do you know anything else about this? Okay, call my cell if you do. Look into signs of demon activity; this probably isn’t what it looks like. You’ve got my cell number, right? Tell Jo to drive out here and watch the house and the dog, I don’t know how long I’ll be away.  Of course I’m going to St. Louis! What? Ask Ellen to make her do it, then. Bye.”  He hangs up and tosses the phone onto the couch.

“I’m assuming you wouldn’t stay here if I told you to, so get your things,” he says, pulling a revolver out of a desk drawer. “We’ll take the Chevy. My truck needs brake work and none of the other running cars are fit for the distance.” He heads up the stairs.

“What are we even going to do when we get there?” Jess calls after him. _Put Dean down like a rabid dog? I can’t do that…and what about Sam?_

Bobby comes down the stairs in a suit and tie, and waves a believable FBI badge at her.

“We’re going to interrogate Dean Winchester,” he says.  “Or at least, whatever has stolen his identity.”

“You don’t think it’s really Dean?” Jess asks.  “I thought this wasn’t ‘some Lazarus miracle’?”

Bobby sighs.  “I don’t want to give up on him…or Sam.  Not yet.”

 _I wish I could feel the same,_ Jess thinks.

* * *

 

Jess lets Bobby take the wheel, she is sick of driving anyway. She switches out cassette tapes and copies information out of John’s journal into the one that Bobby gave her, to pass the time and get her mind off Sam.  She estimates that she has worked her way through at least half of Dean’s tape collection. Bobby doesn’t attempt much conversation and neither does she.

After a while, the thought crosses her mind that Sam might call her phone, so she turns it on.  17 text messages, 23 missed calls and five voicemails: all from her parents. She turns it off. 

They arrive in St. Louis by late afternoon and Bobby parks the Chevy on a street two blocks from the station. 

“Do you know how to use a gun?” he asks.

“I took a self-defense seminar in college,” Jess replies. “We learned about guns but I didn’t actually handle any.”

“So that’s a definite no. What do you know about the FBI?”

She shrugs. “I studied pre-law, so I took some criminal justice courses.”

“Do you think you could pose as a lawyer?”

“No, not really.” _Sam could probably do that, though._

“Well, just stay in the car then. Keep the doors locked and wait.”

“What if something goes wrong?”

“Get the hell out of town,” Bobby says, pulling a briefcase out of the backseat before he shuts the car door.

Jess begins copying John’s journal again. Twenty minutes later, Bobby comes back and taps on the window, startling her.

“You should be more alert,” he says, when she rolls it down.

“Sorry. What’s up?”

“I thought of something you could do to help,” he says quickly. Make some calls and look into bodies mutilated or stolen from cemeteries and morgues in the Palo Alto and St. Louis areas. You think you can pull that off?”

Jess considers the suggestion for a moment. “I can try.  We passed a library when we pulled on to the street, I can use a computer there, I guess. You’re thinking of a ghoul, aren’t you?  I read about those in John’s journal.” _But if it’s a ghoul, then that means…ugh…_

“We should rule one out, at least.” He heads back up the street.

* * *

 

When Dean was seventeen, he broke his foot during a hunt, and John dropped him and Sam off at Bobby’s for two months. It was the longest time they ever stayed with him, and Dean spent a lot of his time in the garage with Bobby, learning how to fix up cars.

But even on crutches, keeping Dean out of trouble was tough. Twice, he disappeared during the night to go hunting alone. The first time, he came back with a concussion from a close call with a violent spirit. The second time, he ended up in jail for trespassing while looking into rumors of a chupacabra. Luckily, the landowner didn’t press charges.

During the drive home from the police station, Bobby said, “If you continue to be that careless, you’re going to end up in prison one day. Don’t expect me or your dad to be able to do much about it.” Dean had just rolled his eyes.

Eventually, Dean developed better judgment and proved to be a reliable and more than cunning hunter. As far as Bobby knows, he hadn’t had any other serious incidents with the police. Not only is murder out of character for him, so is getting caught.  That’s what fuels Bobby’s hope.  Even if something had twisted up Dean’s soul, he’d still be too clever to be caught by cops.

Bullshitting his way in to talk to Dean face-to-face is more difficult than his usual dealings with the police, but Bobby manages. Why is he here when there are already FBI agents assigned to the case? He’s looking into deaths of Dean and Sam Winchester in California and the disappearance of Jessica Moore. Yes, Dean Winchester was actually confirmed dead in Palo Alto in November, but now the case is reopened, for obvious reasons. Does he have clearance with his superiors? He gives them Ellen Harvelle’s alternate number and she proves to be more than convincing. 

As Bobby expected, Dean has already been through several rounds of questioning. Other than a few sarcastic comebacks, the cops haven’t gotten a thing out of him. It’s kind of a shock, seeing him through the one-way mirror, alive and breathing. His gray t-shirt and worn jeans are as recognizable as his cocky smile. 

“You’re in hot water, aren’t you, Winchester?” Bobby says when he walks in and sits down across from Dean. “Five dead bodies, all evidence points to you, and, to top it off, a wild standoff with the police. I’m FBI Agent Smith, by the way.”

“Let me guess, your partner is Agent Wesson,” Dean replies. If he recognizes Bobby, he’s hiding it well.

“Now that’s just hilarious,” Bobby says flatly. “So, how is it that you’ve got a death certificate in California but you’re alive and well here in Missouri?”

“I am a magician,” he says with derision.

“What about your brother Sam, is he a magician too?” Bobby asks, pulling a water bottle out of his briefcase. He takes a drink that then sets it on the table with the cap off.  “Is he alive?”

Dean shrugs.

 “Is this a Poughkeepsie thing, Dean?” Bobby asks.

“A what?” He raises his eyebrows.

“I heard Poughkeepsie can be a real funky town,” Bobby says carefully. _Come on, give me a clue.  Is it really you that I’m talking to?_

“Whatever, man.” Dean glances around the room as if he is bored.

“Forget it.” Bobby reaches for his briefcase again, and knocks over the bottle of water. “Whoops, sorry.” He pulls a handkerchief out of his pocket to wipe off the table.

Shackled to the table, Dean can’t completely get away from the water that runs into his lap. To Bobby’s simultaneous relief and disappointment, the holy water doesn’t burn him. Instead, Dean just glares at him.

“What can you tell me about Sam’s girlfriend, Jessica Moore?” Bobby asks.

“What about her?”

“Well, she goes missing and suddenly you’re alive when you are supposed to be a pile of ashes and teeth buried in Palo Alto. Did you kidnap her?”

Dean laughs. “No.”

“Is that what your brother is up to? Did he take her?”

“I don’t know.”

 “Listen, Dean,” Bobby says, “if you are trying to cover for something your brother has done to Jessica, you’re just making things harder for yourself. Cooperating with the police will help you in the long run.” He rests his hand on Dean’s forearm. Silver is the last test, and he’s wearing a fake wedding band. To anyone watching behind the glass, this just looks like the typical good cop routine.

“Dean” flinches with a hiss and Bobby pulls his hand away and casually stands up from the table.

“Sorry, did I shock you?” he chuckles. “Static electricity, huh? Anyway, I think we’re done here.”

He walks out.

As he walks back to the car, he calls Jess. “Meet me back at the car. It’s not Dean, it’s a shapeshifter.”

* * *

 

Bobby picks Jess up at the library and updates her on the interrogation while they look for a cheap place to eat.  Jess can’t decide if the news is good news or not.  Obviously, it is good that Dean isn’t a murderer, but there is still no resolution.  They still have no idea where the brothers are, alive or dead.  The ever present uncertainty is wearing her heart down.

“Shapeshifters can’t keep their skins too long before they have to shed,” Bobby explains, once they are seated in a booth in the back of a nearly empty deli.  “That shifter’s skin was new and highly accurate, right down to the teeth.  So it’s seen Dean recently, probably in the last couple days.  Dead or alive, it could have him hidden somewhere as a reference.”

“How are we going to find him?”

“Shifters are nasty.  They tend to have hideouts where they can shed and they like to be underground.  Since we’re in a city, Dean’s probably somewhere in an abandoned area of the sewer system.”

Jess’s mental image of possible ‘hideout’ scenarios is quickly killing her appetite.  “We’ve got to get help then, get the authorities involved…”

“Are you kidding? As far as anyone knows, he’s a serial killer,” Bobby says in an irritated whisper, glancing at the oblivious waitress behind the counter.

“It’s March!  If he is stuck in some cold wet hole, he could die of hypothermia.  Besides, the shifter is already in custody,” she insists.

“For how long? It could take on the identity of a guard and be out of there by tonight. Besides, the case is a mess already.  If Dean were taken into custody, we’d never get him cleared and it would probably make national headlines.  Exposure gets hunters imprisoned or killed; it’s never a good thing.”

 _We don’t have the luxury of seeking help._ Jess sighs.

“So we are going to crawl around in the sewer until we find him,” she says after a moment, pushing fries around her plate.

“Yep.”

“Do you think Dean kept any hazmat suits in the trunk?”

“Ha. I wish.”

* * *

 

Jess drops Bobby off at a motel to book a couple rooms, and then stops at a gas station to buy some extra flashlight batteries and fill the tank.  The shopping trip proves to be an adventure of its own, because “the Winchester murders” are the topic of the night among customers.  _The brother is probably alive and already south of the border…he was Ivy League, you know…can you believe that morgue in San Fran actually certified them as dead? They must have fabricated that for money…They won’t find that missing girl alive…What a shit show of a case, really…_

 _Missing girl? What missing girl?_ Jess wonders.

Behind the counter, the evening news is on a rabbit eared TV.  “Police now believe that Jessica Moore, who was last seen in Bakersfield, California, may have been kidnapped by Dean Winchester…”

Jess is already standing in line, right there in front of her own missing persons report.  The logical thing to do would be to walk out, but panic holds her in place, watching as various photos of her face flash across the screen.  None of the photos are recent; she wouldn’t let anyone take her picture after the fire.  But still, it wouldn’t be that difficult for someone to recognize her.

“Ma’am, I can ring you up now…” the clerk says.  His back is to the TV.  “Ma’am?”

“Oh, sorry.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, don't forget to bookmark, and enjoy your holidays!


	5. Search and Rescue

When Jess arrives at the motel room, Bobby has a map of the sewer on the wall with pins marking where the shifter’s victims were found.  They all fit within a 20 mile radius, but there are five in a cluster, within 3.5 miles of each other.

“You’d think it would be clever enough to kill outside its own backyard,” Jess says, scrutinizing the map. 

Bobby shrugs.  “This stormwater channel, right here,” he says, pointing near the cluster, “I think that’s where we should start.  It’s connected to several tunnels that are probably abandoned or at least rarely used.  I doubt anyone’s been down one in decades.”

“Okay, good.”  She almost tells him about the news report, but doesn’t.

* * *

Finding access to the stormwater channel proves difficult, but not impossible.  They find an entrance in a ditch behind the back lot of a supermarket and use bolt cutters to get through the fence.

“Have this ready,” Bobby says, handing Jess a sheathed silver knife after she follows him through the fence.

She sticks the knife down the back of her jeans, with the hilt protruding above her waistband. Bobby mutters “Get a belt, amateur,” under his breath.  She ignores him.

At the entrance to the tunnel, Jess clicks on her flashlight and shines it inside. There’s an inch of water and mud sitting on the bottom, and plenty of graffiti on the walls near the entrance.  Bobby ducks and enters first and she follows with a sick sense of fear growing inside her.

It takes twenty minutes to reach the main channel, and at least another twenty to find the first abandoned section.  They almost miss it because its sealed off with cement. 

“Well, I didn’t expect this to be that easy anyway,” Bobby sighs.  Jess nods and they keep moving.

“I’m listed as a missing person now,” she says abruptly, after they walk another fifty yards or so.  “They think Dean kidnapped me.  I saw it on the news at the gas station.  I wasn’t going to say anything, but then I realized the cops are probably looking for the Chevy.”

Bobby stops and stares at her.  “Your family has no idea where you are?”

“Yeah. I just left.”

“You didn’t even try to lie?”

“No.”

“Well, what did you think was going to happen?  I mean, I used your supposed disappearance as a part of my FBI spiel, but that was just -”

“I didn’t think Dean Winchester was going to come back from the dead and get framed as a serial killer by an identity stealing monster,” she snaps.   “Let’s just keep moving, okay?” 

They follow an offshoot of the main channel to reach the next potential hideout.  The off shoot is on a slight incline, and there’s a slimy stream of water flowing down into the main tunnel.  Jess’s back and neck are already sore from crouching, and they have to duck a little bit more to get through.  The water soaks into her shoes and numbs her feet.

The entrance to the tunnel is only big enough to crawl through on hands and knees, and there is plenty of sludge built up inside from overflow spilling through.  “Dean,” Bobby shouts, shining his light down the tunnel.

“Rock, paper, scissors?” Jess asks, looking in.

Bobby rolls his eyes, hands his pack off to her, and crawls in.  Jess can hear him cursing after a minute and assumes the worst.  Eventually, he backs his way out, jeans soaked in cold muck.

“Dead end,” he says.  “Just a metal grate.”

 “How far to the next one?” she asks, relieved.  She hands over his pack.

“Not sure.  Maybe half a mile?  It’s not directly connected to the channel.”

“So it’s a little more isolated?”

“I’d think so.”

They backtrack and move on.  The channel is less quiet than Jess expected.  She can hear cars, and occasionally feel vibrations as they pass overhead.  They take a wrong turn and briefly lose track of where they are. Jess becomes convinced that Bobby has severely underestimated the distance.

After nearly an hour, they reach the tunnel.  It was meant to move stormwater away from a housing development that never happened, and to Jess’s relief, it isn’t nearly as small as the others.  It’s relatively dry and they move quickly.

“Ugh, do you smell that? Something died down here —“ She slips and falls onto her hands and knees.  “Fuck! Ugh, gross!”  She crawls backwards and stands up, bumping into Bobby.

Bobby crouches and uses the tip of his knife to scoop up a piece of the viscous material.  It burns away in reaction to the silver.  “Shifter skin.”

“There’s something metal in it,” Jess says, before dry heaving. 

Bobby fishes the object out.  “It’s Dean’s amulet.”

They start calling Dean’s name, shining their lights along the walls looking for other passages.

After fifteen minutes they reach the end of the tunnel, where the exit has been sealed off with a thick metal grate.  Another dead end.

“Fuck it,” Bobby grumbles and turns around to head back.

“But we found the amulet in the skin,” Jess says.  “It’s got to be this tunnel.” _We can’t leave him down here._

“There’s nothing else down this way,” he says, shining his light on the map.  “We need to back track and see if we missed anything.  Then we’ll start back at square one and try another area.”

“N-no, he’s got to be down here...” she insists, voice quavering. _He can’t get left behind again._

“Hey,” Bobby puts a reassuring hand on her shoulder.  “We’re gonna find him.  Sam too.  Now, come on.”

She nods, and follows him.

 “What if the shifter was living somewhere on the surface and only used the sewers to get in and out?”  She shines her light on the top of the tunnel as they walk.

“There! That’s got to be it!” There’s a jagged hole above them, not far from where they found the shifter skin.  “It looks like it’s covered by something a few feet up.”

She steps aside and Bobby takes a look. “Yeah, looks like it.  I doubt I can fit, can you?”

“I think so.  Give me a boost, I’ll try to move whatever that is and get inside,” she says, handing her flashlight off.

He hoists her up and she shoves against whatever is blocking the hole.  She manages to shift it.  “Almost got it, I think it’s a metal trunk or a big tool box or something.”  She tries again and uncovers the hole.  Bobby lowers her down.

“Flashlight,” she says.  “I want to get a good look before I climb up.”

“Have that knife ready,” Bobby warns, handing her flashlight.

She pulls the knife out and holds it between her teeth.

“Ready?” he asks.

She nods.

He boosts her up.  She shines the light around and then struggles to pull herself up into the space, wishing she hadn’t dropped gymnastics in 8th grade.

“You okay?”  Bobby calls up, once she’s through.

She takes the knife out of her mouth.  “Yeah, I’m good.  I think it’s some sort of cellar. There are some rotten looking stairs. Ugh, it reeks even worse up here.  There’s more…skin, or whatever.”

An old metal trunk is what had been used as a cover for the hole.  Other than the piles of rotting shifter skin, it’s the only thing on that side of the cellar.

“Dean?” she says, heart pounding.

She crosses the room slowly, knife in hand, shining her light as she her way around the stairs.  There’s a body slumped in the corner, and at first glance all she sees, all she feels is that he’s Sam, even though she knows he’s not.

 “Bobby, he’s here, I found him!”

Dean is handcuffed to a rusted out oil tank in the corner, stripped down to an undershirt and boxers.  Slouched against the tank and the wall with his head hanging forward, she can’t tell if he’s dead or alive, but an infinite feeling of relief floods over her.  She runs to him, nearly tripping over an unlit kerosene heater by the stairs.  She kneels to take his free wrist in hand and get a pulse, leaving the knife and the flashlight on the floor beside her. 

He flinches when she touches him, so slightly she almost misses it. _He must be so cold…oh my God, the bruises on his neck…_

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” she says softly, carefully supporting his head and pressing a palm to his cheek. “Shh, it’s okay. I’m Jessica, remember me?”

He makes a hoarse noise in his throat and shivers. 

“He’s alive?”  Bobby calls up.

“Yeah, he’s alive, but he’s handcuffed,” she calls back.

She hears something clatter near the hole in the floor.  “Bolt cutters,” Bobby says. “Hurry up and get him out of there.”

Jess runs back for the bolt cutters.  She peers down the hole at Bobby.  “Do you have any water?  I think he’s really dehydrated.”

Bobby hands her his flask of holy water.

“We can’t carry him out the way we came in,” she says.  “You’ve got to go back for the car. I’m going to go upstairs and try to figure out where we are.”

She hurries back to Dean and he winces when she touches his cuffed wrist.  _Shit, is his wrist broken?_  

She tries to break the handcuffs as gently as she can, fumbling with the bolt cutters and holding the flashlight between her knees.  She cuts through the chain and Dean is free, but she leaves the cuff on his wrist, worried that she might hurt him if she tries to cut it.

“Drink,” she says, supporting his head and holding the flask to his lips. He manages to take a few small sips.

“Don’t,” he says in a whisper so hoarse it’s almost unintelligible, “don’t go up.”

“The shifter’s gone. I’ll be right back, I promise,” she says.  She kisses him on the head.

She picks up the knife again and heads up the stairs, careful of the rotten boards.  The door at the top of the stairs isn’t locked.  She opens it and steps out into a kitchen, or at least what is left of one.  The roof is partially caved in and there are puddles of water on the rotten, buckled floor.  She shines the flashlight down a hallway to her right, and then to her left, where there are two more doorways, one leading to the front of the house, the other leading out to a porch with a screen door.  She heads left, through the porch and around to the front of the house. She shines the flashlight around, looking for things that distinguish the house and then runs back inside.

Dark movement appears in the corner of her eye as she reaches the cellar stairs.  She turns and readies the knife as the shifter lunges toward her.  When she steps back and feels her foot miss the step behind her, she does the only thing she can, and takes it down with her.

* * *

When Jess comes to, she’s hurting all over, beneath a suffocating weight.  She can see her flashlight shining at the top of the stairs where she dropped it, but the cellar is dark.

“What happened? Dammit,” she hears somewhere behind her head, along with the sounds of Bobby trying to climb up through the hole.

“I’m alright,” she says, unsure if she is lying.  She shoves the body off of her with a groan and slowly sits up.  Something is definitely wrong with her neck and right shoulder.  Her head swims.  _God, I hope I don’t have a concussion._

She can hear Dean moving somewhere to her right. “Shifter?” he asks.

“Yeah.  Fell on my knife.” The front of her jacket is wet. _Blood. Ugh, gross._

“Well, shit.” 

“Yeah.  Bobby, I need a light.”  He holds his flashlight up through the hole and she stands up slowly and makes way her over.

“You okay, kid?” he asks.

“No broken bones.  Might have hit my head.”

“Did you figure out where we are?”

White one story house with blue shutters,” Jess says.  “Completely abandoned, the windows are busted, the kitchen’s caved in. Gravel drive with a red mailbox that says #124. Woodsy area.  I think it’s near a construction site or something.”

“Got it.” Bobby disappears from view.

“Bobby, wait,” she says and he comes back. “He’s in bad shape.  It’s 40 degrees, maybe colder, and he’s freezing.  If you aren’t here in an hour, or if he gets worse, I’m calling 911.”

“That’s probably the right call.  Keep an eye on yourself, too.” He pulls off his coat, hands it to her, and disappears.

She shines the flashlight on the body.  The shifter was disguised as a prison guard, as Bobby predicted.  She pulls the knife out of its chest and wipes it off on the uniform.

“’S not human,” Dean says.  He sounds like he is trying to be reassuring.

“Whatever.  Fucker got what was coming to it.”  Jess is a little surprised at herself when she hears the words out loud.

“Damn right.”

She limps back over to Dean and helps him into Bobby’s coat.  She takes her beanie off too and pulls it over his head to cover his ears.  He grunts in protest, but she says “Hush, or I’ll make you wear my bloody jacket too”.  She assures herself that _patchy hair and scars don’t fucking matter in this type of situation,_ but still feels embarrassed.  She hasn’t let her hair be seen by anyone since she left the hospital.  She holds the flask to his lips again and convinces him to slowly finish off what is left. 

“Do you have any idea how long you have been down here?” she asks.

He shakes his head. “Shifter didn’t come back. Kerosene ran out. That was…a while ago,” he rasps.

“Bobby’s going back for your car, he’ll be here soon.”

Dean stands up slowly and leans back against the wall.  Jess holds a hand out, ready to help him if he needs it.

“Sam,” he says.  It’s almost a question, but not quite.

“Do you know where he is?”  She can’t ask if Sam is alive.  Any possible answer will make her fall apart.  She can’t afford that.

He shakes his head and sits down.

 _He was hoping I knew,_ she realizes. 

She isn’t sure what else to say. There are so many questions that she wants answers to and she doesn’t even know where to start.  She isn’t even sure if Dean knows that he died, so she stays silent and watches for signs of his condition getting worse. 

* * *

 

Jess is two buttons away from calling 911 when Bobby calls and says he thinks he has found the place.  Within seconds, she can hear the rumble of the car.

“Ready to get out of here?” she asks Dean.

“Fuck yeah.”  He stands up a little too quickly, and she pulls his arm over her good shoulder to keep him steady. 

“Y’all okay?” Bobby calls down from the first floor.

“Yeah!” Jess shouts back. “Careful on the stairs, they’re a death trap.”

Bobby pulls Dean into a hug as soon as he reaches the bottom of the stairs. There’s an exchange of words, but Jess doesn’t catch it.

Outside, the sky is dark and overcast but the air smells like morning.  Dean smiles briefly when he sees his car. Once he is wearing his own clothes and slouched in the backseat, Jess pulls Bobby aside.

“Does he seem like himself?” she asks quietly.

“I don’t think anyone coming out of a hole like that is going to be himself,” Bobby replies.  “We’ll keep an eye on him, and then go from there.”

“We need to take him to a hospital.  He’s severely dehydrated, his wrist might be fractured—“

“We can’t risk it,” Bobby insists, opening the trunk.

“He can barely walk! Did you even see the bruises on his neck – “

“I’ve got people I can call, but first we need to get some new plates on this car and get the hell out of here.”

Jess climbs in the back, to keep an eye on Dean.  Bobby switches out the plates with others from the trunk and they hit the road.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy New Year!
> 
> Ironically, I fell down some stairs a couple days before Christmas (I'm fine, no shapeshifters involved), so I'm publishing this chapter later than I originally planned. But yay, they found Dean!
> 
> Comments and kudos are appreciated ;D


	6. Mishaps and Photographs

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait, the semester started off with a bang. Not the fireworks kind of bang, more like the whoops-I-dropped-the-nitroglycerin type of bang.
> 
> Anyway, I hope you enjoy this chapter. It was a tough one.

_“Come home with me for Christmas break,” Jess says._

_“What?” Sam mumbles into her hair._

_“Come home with me,” she repeats.  “Don’t stay here alone.”_

_A week ago, she kissed him in the library.  Now he’s falling asleep in her bed with an arm around her waist and she wonders how she ever fell asleep without him._

_It just sort of happened. The all-nighter they had planned only lasted until 5 AM, when they traded the light and hum of their laptops for the ocean and the sky. They sat on the beach and talked, waiting on the sunrise. Jess dozed off at some point, her head on Sam’s shoulder. When he woke her, the horizon was bright pink and orange. He walked her back to her room and he told her goodbye, but they didn’t part ways.  She pulled him into a kiss and then into her bed, and now here they were._

_“I don’t want to impose on your mom.”_

_“You won’t be imposing. She’ll be thrilled.”_

_“I’ll drive down for Christmas Day, I promise.”_

_She rolls over and faces him and her lips line up with his jaw, so she kisses him there. “Then I’ll spend break here with you.”_

_“Jess, you’ve been so homesick. You’d be miserable.”_

_“You are not going to be alone on campus for the entire break, Sam Winchester. You’re coming home with me.”_

_He smiles and kisses her._

_“Was that a yes?”_

_“Yeah.”_

* * *

“Stay put.  I’ll clear out the rooms and then we’ll get out of the city,” Bobby says as he parks the car in an alley a couple blocks from the motel. The sun is finally starting to rise.

“We’re ditching the car, right?” Jess asks.

“Hell no,” Dean mutters.

“Temporarily,” she clarifies.

“Still no,” he says, glaring at her.  “Why should we?”

She looks away from him, unnerved.  _Don’t do this now. Please._

“Thanks to the shifter, you’re a wanted man, Dean,” Bobby says, eyeing them both in the rearview mirror. “Jessica is a missing person.  It’s actually a good idea.”

“I don’t care, we’re not –“

 “No, we’re not ditching your car,” Bobby says. “We’ll find a place to lay low until you’re both well enough to travel and then make our way back to my place on back roads.” He gets out of the car, effectively ending the discussion.

Jess shifts in her seat. The pain in her shoulder is getting worse, spreading into her back. Her neck feels stiff and a headache has set in. Generally though, she feels tired and sore all over.

Dean is slouched against the window, taking up most of the space on the seat. His eyes are closed. She wonders if he is on the verge of sleeping.

After a few minutes of awkward silence, Bobby comes back and stows duffels in the trunk.  He starts the engine and pulls out of the alley.

* * *

 

“I still think we should take him to the hospital,” Jess says.  She’s lying on a motel room couch in Twenty-Minutes-From-Nowhere, Iowa with a bag of ice on her shoulder.

“He twisted his wrist up pretty good trying to get out of those cuffs, but it’s not broken,” Bobby replies quietly from across the room.  He is cleaning Dean’s weapons and his own.  Jess can’t figure out if he is doing the task out of necessity or boredom.

“Did you check him for frost bite?”

“Of course I checked him for frost bite.”

“He couldn’t keep his food down.”

“Probably because you made him down that Gatorade so fast.  Besides, what about you?  You’re the one with the concussion.”

“Yeah, I’d actually appreciate the opportunity to have my head checked out,” she says.

“Too bad.  It’s too risky.”

“Shh,” she says, glancing at Dean when he coughs and stirs in his sleep.  He’s only been out for forty-five minutes.  She wants to wake him up to check on him eventually, but not yet.

Bobby sighs.  “Take a shower, Jess. Hot water would do your shoulder some good.”

“Yeah. You’re probably right.” After a few minutes, she gets up with a groan and heads to the bathroom.

She pulls off her clothes gingerly with her back to the mirror, a careful variation on her usual routine.  She’s learned that the less she sees of herself, the better her days tend to go.  The hot water does cut the pain and stiffness, and she takes her time underneath it. 

She cries, finally.  She isn’t even sure what tips her over the edge.  Maybe it is the experience of regaining consciousness underneath a dead body.  Maybe it is Dean and how _yes, thank God, he is alive_ _but he’s not Sam,_ _where the hell is Sam_.  Maybe it is just her hair.  It doesn’t last long but she feels better afterwards, sort of numb and steady.

The conversation in the other room catches her attention as soon as she shuts the water off.  She wraps herself in a towel and moves closer to the door.

“…and you actually expect me to sit around and wait? I can’t do that, Bobby.”  Dean’s voice is stronger than it has been, but he still sounds hoarse.

 “You’re in no shape to be demon hunting.  I’ll handle this.  I’ll even call in a few favors with other hunters. We’ll find Sam.”

“He’s my brother, I can’t –“ he interrupts himself with a coughing fit.

“Get back in bed and rest, you idjit.”

Other than Dean’s occasional cough, the room is silent for a while and Jess quits eavesdropping and starts drying off.  Then Bobby speaks up again.

“Did you tell Jessica anything?”

“Mm?  No.”

“Why not?”

“She’s a civilian, the less she knows the better.”

Bobby scoffs.  “She deserves to know.”

Dean doesn’t answer.

When she is finally convinced that the discussion is over and steps out of the bathroom, Jess doesn’t bring it up.  For one thing, she’s angry.  If Dean is anything like his brother, angry accusations won’t go over well.  For another, she’s hoping Bobby is trustworthy enough to tell her himself. 

She goes back to the couch to ice her shoulder and flip channels.  Dean is sleeping, or maybe just pretending to do so.  Bobby leaves to find a safer place to keep the car.  When he comes back, he insists she sleep in the second bed and he’ll take the couch.  She’s grateful she didn’t have to ask.

“And Jess,” he says, before heading to the shower, “we’ll talk about what happened once you and Dean are in better shape.”

“Okay.”

Again, she’s grateful that she didn’t have to ask.

* * *

 

Dean’s rate of recovery is promising. He’s stubborn as hell, but so is Jess, and she doesn’t relent when he refuses to drink water with his pills or he when demands a cheeseburger and a beer instead of a turkey sandwich and orange juice. The only time she backs down is when he insists he doesn’t need to be babysat when he showers, and only because he seems steady on his feet and promises to take a nap later.

They don’t talk much, not conversationally at least, and when he starts calling her “Nurse” she obviously isn’t fond of the nickname, so he drops it.

 He’s nothing like Sam but he’s also just like him and Jess’s heart keeps on aching.

Bobby comes and goes. He also makes and receives a lot of phone calls, and generally walks to the empty end of the parking lot when he does.  In two days, Jess hasn’t had a chance to talk to him privately. Still, all her questions are waiting on the tip of her tongue.

Then Dean tries to leave. Twice.  Bobby stops him. 

Jess wonders if it’s the long talks that convince him to stay, or the amulet they found in the sewer.  The way Dean handles the thing after Bobby returns it is almost reverent.  Despite all the ‘occult shit’ in his trunk, Jess hasn't pinned him as religious, so she wonders what the significance is.

On the third night, Jess sits in the plastic patio chair outside the motel room door and waits for Bobby to come back from wherever he’s been.

“Somethin’ wrong?” he asks, when he walks up.

“Yeah, I’m still in the dark about everything.”

Bobby rubs a hand over his face and sighs.  “Dean should be the one to tell you what he remembers.”

She nods and then follows him inside.

* * *

 

“We woke up in a cemetery in Palo Alto.  Thought I’d been ruffied.  Sam was the one that sort of put the pieces together.  He saw the headstones first, I don’t know.”

Dean didn’t agree to talk until he’d argued with Bobby for over an hour.  Finally, he is sitting on the end of the bed, elbows on his knees.  Bobby and Jess are on the couch across from him.

“We woke up in cheap suits.  They reeked.  Not just death, but sulfur.  Should have been a clue, but we were pretty disoriented.”

“Sulfur is a sign of demons, isn’t it?” Jess interjects.  Both men nod.

“We had no idea what day or year it was, but we knew we had to keep our heads down.  Dad has emergency supplies in storage units, lockers, and PO boxes across the country, so we stole a car and drove to the closet ones I could think of and cleared them out.  We were looking my car when we found a lead on where he was and –“

“Don’t skip the part about _how_ Sam found a lead,” Bobby interrupts.

Dean glares at him.

“It’s kind of important.”

“Yeah, it is, that’s why I skipped it.”

“Sam had a vision,” Bobby says impatiently, turning to Jess. 

Dean looks pissed.

She hesitates and then asks, “Is he psychic?”

“No,” Dean says quickly.

“We don’t know,” Bobby clarifies.  “But he told Dean he was having dreams about the fire before it happened.”

“The nightmares.” Jess remembers those nights.  Sam would wake up in a cold sweat, stare at the ceiling for a moment and then wrap his arms around her.  He never said what the dreams were about and she assumed the cause was just stress.  _God, I wasn’t paying attention at all, was I?  Did he know he was going to die?_

“Yeah, nightmares.  But he was awake for the vision.  Hit him out of nowhere with a hell of a headache.  He said he saw Dad dying in a cabin in Nebraska, so we headed there.”

“Did you find him?”  Jess asks.

Dean’s eyes shift from Bobby to the dingy carpet at his feet and he clenches his jaw. “He made a deal to bring us back, his soul for ours, and his countdown ran out before we got there…”

 _The phone call.  That must have been the day John made the deal,_ Jess thinks.  _Should I say something about…?_

“…We buried him, and then the hell spawn showed up.  Dad had warded the cabin, and we added to it, but they broke through by sunrise.  Possessed us and walked us right out the door.”

Jess makes a useless exclamation and neither man acknowledges it.

Bobby grumbles, “I told your father years ago, you boys need anti-possession tattoos.”

 “Yeah, I remember,” Dean huffs.  “I actually made us appointments, but the case we were working on got in the way.  Never got around to it after that.”

He exhales and continues, “I only remember bits and pieces because I couldn’t stay conscious. I was just a ‘meat suit’ for them, I guess, but they were obsessed with Sam.  I was never awake long enough to figure out why.  I mean, I fought with all I had, I even got control a couple times, but then I’d just black out.  Then the demon that was riding me decided I wasn’t worth the trouble.  I thought it was going to kill me, but it didn’t.  Just dumped me in the sewer.”

“Where the shifter found you?” Jess asks, when he pauses.

Dean scratches at the stubble on his jaw.  “I guess I was a convenient alibi, so it kept me alive.”

“Do you remember anything about where you and Sam were taken?” she asks.

He shakes his head.  “They moved us around and I always blacked out when they did.”

“So how do we find him?”  The desperation Jess feels slips out in her voice as she turns to Bobby.

“I’m already working on it, along with several friends,” he says.  “We’ll find him.”

Dean is done talking, it’s obvious in his posture, but Jess isn’t.

“Dean, were they…are they hurting him?”

He tenses at the question, clenching his jaw again.

“They’re demons,” he says, finally.  “What the fuck do you think they’re doing to him?”

She blinks and looks at the floor, grieved.

Dean leaves.

“Idjit,” Bobby grumbles, getting up to fix the salt line Dean disrupted his way out, “I’ve got his keys.”

* * *

 

Dean isn’t back by midnight, so Bobby goes looking for him.

Jess tries to sleep but she can’t.  Every time she starts to drift off, she sees Sam.  Sitting on the beach at sunrise.  On her family’s living room floor, surrounded by wrapping paper and lit by the glow of the Christmas tree.  Struggling with his tie, the morning before an important presentation.  Napping on their couch on a lazy Sunday. 

But mostly, she sees Sam below her, with drops of her blood on his face.

And Sam running through a burning doorway.

And Sam beaten and bloodied, handcuffed to a rusted oil tank.

She gives up on sleep.

* * *

 

Dean stumbles in around five in the morning, plastered and stinking of sex, with the evidence of a fight swelling and turning purple on his cheekbone.  Bobby follows after him, and after seeing the expression on his face, Jess suspects he might have thrown the punch.

“You could have blown our cover and you don’t even give a shit,” Bobby growls.

“No, people don’t give a shit,” Dean slurs, scrubbing a hand over his unshaven face.  “’S why nobody recognized me.”

“You’re no help to your brother like this, Dean.”

“I’m no help to my brother, period!” Dean shouts, turning to face him.

“Shut up, both of you, somebody’s going to call the cops!”

They both turn and look at Jess as if they had forgotten she existed.

 “Sober up, Dean,” Bobby sighs.  “We’re leaving in four hours.”

Dean curses at him and then heads to the bathroom.

For the first time in what feels like a long time, Jess wishes she were home.  She grabs her journal and heads outside to sit in the chair by the door.

Carefully, she opens the journal and takes out the photos she found in Dean’s wallet.

 “You’re coming home with me,” she says quietly into the dark.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Don't forget to bookmark!
> 
> I'm back at school and crazy busy, so there will be bigger gaps between updates. But don't worry, I'm not dropping this. ;D


	7. Interlude: Family Again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Takes place during the drive back from Jericho.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> School has been hell, I have no time to write, but here is the first of a few mini chapters.

_“So tell me, how’d a nerd like you score a girl like Jane?” Dean asks, breaking the silence that had filled the car._

_“Her name is Jess,” Sam replies, “and believe it or not, Dean, it’s actually possible to be in a committed relationship when you don’t wear your brother’s hand-me-downs or move every two months.”_

_Dean chuckles and shakes his head. Yeah, it’s been two years, and his brother is wearing preppy clothes and headed to a big law school interview or whatever, but the kid really hasn’t changed a day._

_“What?” Sam doesn’t make his classic bitch face, not yet, but it’s in his tone._

_“She seems like a real catch. How’d you end up together?”_

_“Why do you care?” Sam asks, as if Dean is the one who goes looking for ways to pick fights.  The kid is such a pain in the ass when he wants to be._

_Dean shrugs. “Fine, don’t talk to me, Sammy, I’m used to it.”  Okay, maybe Dean does say crap to piss him off.  Sometimes._

_But instead of losing his temper, Sam relents with a sigh.  “We were introduced a lame party.  Ditched it to go see a movie and really hit it off.  Started dating later that semester.”_

_“Huh.”  Dean isn’t really sure where else to go with the conversation, so he lets it fizzle out.  At least he tried._

_“I think I’m gonna marry her,” Sam says quietly, after a couple minutes._

_Of all the bombs to drop._

_He doesn’t know what he should say, but manages, “That’s uh, that’s great, Sam.”_

_Another pause, then the second bomb drops. “You’ll be my best man, right?”_

_“What, really?”_  

_“Yeah, really.”_

_“You haven’t picked up the phone in two years but–“_

_“Dude, don’t start that.”_

_“You actually want me at your wedding?” Dean swallows the lump in his throat._ Godammit, Sam, enough with the chick flick moments.

_“Of course I do, man.”_

_“Oh. Well then yeah, sure.”_

_Sam will never return to hunting, or hit the road with Dean like old times, but maybe being a family again won’t be as hard as Dean thought._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! more is on the way!


	8. Interlude: November 2nd

_If there is ever a day when Dean wants to be blackout drunk, it’s November 2nd.  But no, that’s what November 3rd is for._

_November 2nd is when you stay awake, you stay alert, and you keep an eye on your brother._

_Even after he ditches the family, you drive out to California, you hide your car, and you keep an eye on him. even though he’ll never know you were there._

_Even after the awkward goodbye, when you watch him tiredly climb the stairs to his apartment, going back to the girl he loves and the life that has no room for you, you keep watch._

_So when his watch stops, Dean doesn’t hesitate._

_When he’s pinned to the wall, feet lifting from the floor, he fights back with all he has.  He barely registers that Sam’s got his girl in his arms and is carrying her out._

_Atta boy, Sammy._

_“Dean!”_

_No. No, no, no.  Why the hell would he run back inside?_

_Sam’s got his arms around him, and when he can’t pull him down, he just clings to him._

_And that’s how they go out._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, more is on the way.


	9. Get So Used To These Shadows

“Heya, Singer.”  The woman on the front porch leans against the doorpost, arms crossed and smiling.  She makes no attempt to hold Rumsfeld back from an enthusiastic greeting.  The dog bolts past her and collides into Bobby’s legs.

“Hey –Rumsfeld, dammit!”  Bobby wipes muddy paw prints from his jeans and pats the Rottweiler affectionately.

“Jo, this is Jess Moore and Dean Winchester,” he says when he straightens up, motioning to them as they get out of the car.  “Jo Harvelle.  She keeps an eye on the house for me, occasionally.”

“Helps with college loans,” Jo says with a shrug. “Hi.” 

Jo scrutinizes Jess briefly, and Jess assumes uncomfortably that she is trying to decipher the scars on her face.  Dean, who is being circled by the dog, holds Jo’s attention longer, for an entirely different reason. Jess can’t blame her for that.

“Hi,” Jess replies, shouldering her bag.

“Hey,” Dean says flatly, at the same time.  He ignores the dog and heads inside.

“Wait, Winchester?” Jo asks, looking to Bobby. “Is he related to those boys who died in that fire?”

Jess tenses.

Bobby huffs and adjusts his cap.  “No, he is one of those boys.”

“Damn,” Jo replies, with a perplexed expression. The reaction is less disturbed than Jess expected.

“Yeah, don’t bring it up,” he says. “Staying for dinner?”

“Already got it in the oven,” Jo replies with a grin.  “You still need to adjust the temperature on that old thing, you know.”

He shrugs and heads inside.  Jess follows, and so does Jo.

* * *

 

Bobby and Jo converse with an easy familiarity, making dinner a less than terrible experience for Jess.  Dean is silent, except for the gruff replies he gives when he’s spoken to directly. He finishes eating and leaves the kitchen with his second beer in hand before anyone else is halfway through their plate. Jess feels relieved when he does. The misery beneath his indifferent demeanor is nearly insufferable.

Jess is quiet too, for the most part, and Jo doesn’t pry.

From the conversation between Bobby and Jo, Jess gathers that Jo knows the world of hunting well, even though she has rarely participated in it.  College didn’t work out and she’s working in her mom’s bar until her loans are paid off. Her accent is as flat as the state she’s from, her hair cut is cheap, and she postures herself with a languid confidence that Jess wishes she possessed.

“So,” Jo says, when there is finally an empty pause between her and Bobby, “is the brooding revenant in the other room the reason why you’ve been keeping so Ash busy?”

Bobby clears his throat. “Drop it, Jo.”

“So he is.”  She leans forward, elbow on the table and chin in hand, curiosity sparking in her eyes.  “Is the other one back too?  How’s that even possible?”

Jess gathers up the empty plates uncomfortably, intending to wash them.

“I said, drop it.” His tone isn’t angry, just stern.  Almost fatherly.

“Fine,” Jo replies lightly, “but I want to hear all about it when you’re willing.  Seems like a pretty unique case.  Mom said Ash hasn’t even gone near the pool table since you called him. Too busy.”

“They ain’t a case,” Bobby insists. “They’re family.”

Jess is touched by Bobby’s words, but she doesn’t turn from the sink.  She wonders if Sam knew – if Sam knows, she corrects – how much he means to Bobby.  Dean, too.

Jo raises an eyebrow.  “How come I’ve never met them, then? I’m family, too.”

“Some other time,” Bobby sighs.  “You driving back tonight?  It’s getting late.  You can wait ‘til the morning if you want.”

She thinks for a moment before she responds. “I probably should get going. Good catching up with you, Singer,” she says as she stands.

“Good seeing you too.  Thanks for keeping an eye on the place.”  He stands up and hugs her before she goes to get her bags from where she set them in the hall.

“Tell Ellen I said hi.”

“I will.  You should drop in for a visit sometime, you know. It’s been a while.” 

“Sure thing.” 

It doesn’t sound like a sure thing, but Jo still flashes him a smile before she leaves.

* * *

 

Contrary to Jess’s expectations, Dean sobers up and pulls himself together, and any physical sign of his captivity fades away within days. He takes on the search for Sam with obsessive devotion, and although his grief and anger barely stay below the surface, he doesn’t fall back into the volatile mood he had before.  He plasters the walls of Bobby’s study with lore on demons, pours over books, and picks the man’s brain for more information.  Whenever Ash calls, Dean hits the road after the lead.  He always comes back empty handed.

Jess spends most of her time reading through Bobby’s library as well, taking notes and memorizing important information with more dedication than she ever devoted to a final at Stanford. She brushes up on her Latin too, grateful that she already has some experience with language after a particularly boring class in high school and her law studies.  She never predicted that it would be this useful.

Bobby begins teaching her how to shoot on a cloudy morning toward the end of the first week. Tin cans line the fence at the back of salvage lot, startled birds fly out of the field beyond it. The gun feels awkward in her hands, and she thinks the whole scene is too much of a rustic cliché. But she is a nearly decent shot according to Dean, who briefly watches from the porch before heading to his car. There’s no real warmth in his expression when he says so.

* * *

 

During the second week, Jess comes downstairs aware of an argument in the kitchen. Early on, she would have avoided Dean and Bobby both and stayed in her room rehearsing exorcisms, but now she is used to the tension in the house.  Or maybe she’s just grown tired of waiting it out.  She walk in and pours herself coffee without comment.

“What you’re planning to do is wrong, boy, and you know it,” Bobby says as she enters.

“I don’t care what you think it is,” Dean snaps.  He’s leaning back against the counter, hostile.  “We’ve got jack shit.  No leads. Your buddy Ash has been sending me in circles for nothing. So I’ll bend whatever rules I need to bend.”

“Murder? That’s a line you’re gonna cross?” Bobby’s tone is steady, but Jess nearly drops her coffee cup when she turns around.

Dean blinks. “Murder? What the hell, Bobby. They’re demons, not people.”

“You really think you wouldn’t have felt a knife carving you up while you were possessed?” Bobby counters.  “You think any torture that would really get to a demon would be anything a human could survive?”

Dean doesn’t answer, and his determined expression only wavers briefly.

Jess feels sick.

“Hell, what if someone did that to Sam?  You’d be okay with that?”  Bobby has softened his tone, but the words are still a blow.

Dean stares at the floor for a moment, then he slams his fist against the counter and walks out, saying, “I’ll bend whatever rules I need to bend to get him back.”

Bobby sighs and rubs a hand over his face.

Jess can’t see how anyone could blame Sam for leaving this life.

“He won’t, right?” she asks, when she finds her voice.

“Hell if I know,” Bobby answers tiredly.

She wonders if Dean was always the way he is, or if dying made him that way.

She fears Sam will be changed.

* * *

 

Jess wants an anti-possession tattoo.  She’s tired of wearing charms and redrawing sigils on her chest with permanent marker every day, but mostly she’s tired of the tinge of fear in the back of her mind.

Sam and his brother would have had a fighting chance in Nebraska, if the right symbols had been inked into their skin.  They were targeted for an organized attack, but from what Jess has read, people going about their everyday lives randomly get possessed too.  It’s rare, but it happens.  Then their feet wander unwillingly, their hands are made to hurt and kill.  If they are lucky enough to get free, they wake up God knows where.  An abandoned sewer tunnel, in Dean’s case.  Usually they’re too used up to recover.

The Thing that Jess let into the apartment is a demon.  It forced its way into someone she knew, someone she trusted – _but who was it?_ – and conned her. Hell, it could still be walking around in their skin.  Maybe she never knew the person on the inside, only the monstrous fraud.

A shiver runs down Jess’s spine.  Panic blooms in her chest.  She drops the book she’s been staring at and leaves the study for the kitchen, headed for the back door for some fresh air.

“What’s wrong?” Dean asks when he glances at her as she passes. He is making a sandwich at the counter, body angled to keep the begging dog from jumping up and stealing it.

“The fire.”  It’s not a conversation she wants to have with Dean, she didn’t even expect him to be in the kitchen, but the words slip out anyway.

He stills, one hand on the mayo jar, the other holding a butter knife.  “What about it?”  There’s something cold and cautious underneath his casual tone.

Her breath quickens and she can’t answer.

Dean turns to her.  The defensive mix of surprise and confusion on his face disappears once he figures out what is happening.

“Hey, calm down, it’s okay,” he says carefully after a moment, green eyes softening.

When she manages to speak, the words are in a rush between breaths she can’t seem to catch.  “It’s my fault – I let it in – I didn’t know – I’m so sorry –“

“Whoa, Jess, calm down,” he says gently in a low tone, putting a hand on her shoulder. “Jess, look at me.” 

She works at calming her breathing for a moment before making eye contact.

“You didn’t know,” Dean says.  “You were unprotected and you didn’t know. That’s on us.  We had history with the bastard, we should have done better by you.”

She nods, not in agreement, but in acknowledgement.

“That son of a bitch is going to pay for what it did,” he continues. “And Sam? Sam’s alive. We’re going to find him, and he’s going to fine, okay?”

“Okay.” Her breathing slows. The fear doesn’t leave her – it never _really_ leaves her – but it buries itself and settles.

He nods and gives her arm a pat before going back to making his sandwich, as if the panic attack hadn’t happened.

Jess shifts on her feet awkwardly before heading upstairs.

She spends the rest of the day in her room, hiding under the quilts as if she’s going to eventually drift off into a nap. It’s what she did on so many days during those first few weeks after the hospital, but instead of questioning her sanity, she’s mulling over the conversation with Dean.

What he said is blurred in her mind, she had been too upset to grasp it all.  But his tone and demeanor stuck with her.  The anger that usually thrummed beneath the surface of his mood had nearly disappeared, replaced by concern and regret.  Maybe even guilt.

Again, she wonders if dying changed Dean.

She fears Sam will be changed.

* * *

 

Jess wants an anti-possession tattoo, but she doesn’t want to get one with Dean. _Matching tattoos with your boyfriend’s brother? Awkward._ But the tattoos will be the same even if they get them separately, and she doesn’t want to go alone, even with the risk of him being recognized.

She turns down his offer and pays for her own, briefly wondering how he managed to scrape up the cash, since he obviously doesn’t have a job. She decides she doesn’t want to know.

The drive to the shop isn’t as awful as she expected.  Dean turns the radio up and seems to be in one of his better moods, although he doesn’t say much.

The artist mistakes them for a couple.

Dean seems willing to roll with the assumption, so Jess makes the embarrassed correction. He shoots her a look that’s one part amusement and two parts annoyance.  Jess doesn’t understand it, until the artist asks about the significance of the matching tattoos.

She’s fumbling for an explanation and trying to stay still under the needle at her hip when Dean speaks up.

“It’s an anti-possession symbol, to protect against demons,” he says, nonchalantly.

To Jess’s surprise, the artist rolls with the explanation, and starts rambling about how learning the symbols of other people’s beliefs is one of the coolest parts of his job.  Dean winks at Jess.

“When civvies make harmless assumptions, you really should just go along with it,” he says, during the drive back.  “Makes things less complicated.”

“Civilians?” She glances at him.

He nods.  “People believe their own lies more strongly than they’ll ever believe what you say.”

“Is that why so many people are in the dark about what’s really out there?”

He shrugs, and then adjusts his shirt when it rubs against the new tattoo on his chest.

A few minutes later he pulls the car into the parking lot of a thrift store.  “You seem pretty dead set on being a hunter,” he says. “Never seen someone take to the lore so fast.”

“I want to find Sam,” is the reply she manages after a moment of surprised hesitation.

“And after that?” He eyes her, as if evaluating.

After that, Jess really doesn’t know.  She wants to take Sam home, keep him safe, and rebuild their normal life.  But demons will still be out there and The Demon could return to finish what it started.  Would they even have a chance at safe and normal with that threat always lurking?

And what about what Sam wants? What if he’d rather hit the road and hunt with Dean, dead set on revenge?  What if he is not himself at all?

Dean takes her pondering silence as an answer, and says “Look, I’m not saying you’re a hunter, but you aren’t a civilian anymore.  You know what’s out there and you’re learning how to protect yourself.  So come on, let me teach you a couple things.” 

He gets out of the car, and she follows with an anxious “Okay?” 

Dean meanders through the racks of the store, tossing items to her.  A canvas jacket, flannel shirts (“Dark colors, nothing that’s going to grab attention, but plaid’s alright….”), tough denim (“Not the girly kind, it won’t last you three months and the pockets aren’t real pockets, see?”), a pair of work boots (“Yahtzee, real boots!”), a couple belts, and a few hats (“Since you seem fond of ‘em”).  Half of what he grabs isn’t even from the women’s section, but he guesses her size fairly well. 

Jess ignores the mirror when trying it all on. Instead, she steps in and out of the dressing room to get Dean’s opinion on various combinations.  He’s generally happy with his selections.  She wonders if Jo Harvelle would laugh or if she would approve. 

Despite Dean waving his wallet and insisting, Jess pays for it all herself.  He tries to reach over her at the register and convince the cashier to take his card, but she elbows him in the ribs.  It’s strangely satisfying.

 _What an odd way to bond with your boyfriend’s brother,_ she thinks on the way back to Bobby’s.

* * *

 

During the third week, Dean carries out his plan.  He traps a demon in an abandoned barn forty-five minutes out of Sioux Falls.

He doesn’t have the heart to really follow through. Questioning without torture proves useless, so he exorcises it. The girl dies anyway.

 Bobby won’t tell Jess any more than that, no matter how she presses as he leaves to help Dean dispose of the body.

Bobby comes back that night, but Dean doesn’t turn up until morning.  When he comes in, he’s filthy and quiet, but he’s sober.  A dark mood hangs around him for a couple days, but it eventually lifts.

Although it’s a relief to know Dean isn’t a psychopath, Jess still wonders what is going on inside his head.

* * *

 

One month since they found Dean, and not a single lead has brought them any closer to finding Sam.  Were he on an ordinary case, Bobby would call it cold and move on to the next one.  But this isn’t an ordinary case.  Quarrels with John aside, Sam is family and Bobby doesn’t want to give up on him.

Still, enough time has passed that there isn’t much hope.  Sam is possessed or dead, unless there is some other reason why the demons wanted him – Dean did say they were obsessed with Sam and not with him.

As far as Bobby can tell, the only option is to continue chasing their tails until something tangible turns up.  But Dean and Jess are both wearing thin.  Dean’s mood turns on a dime, Jess gets quieter each day. Neither of them sleep much.  Both of them are driving Bobby crazy.

Dean needs a job, a good ol’ salt and burn or werewolf, something impersonal to get him back in the saddle.  Trapping that goddamn demon doesn’t count.  The boy is drowning in the mess that is the loss of his father and his brother, and his heart was still too torn up to handle the aftermath when his plan to get information went sour.  Bobby has left articles and police reports lying around, hoping Dean will take one up, but he doesn’t even glance at them.  Any more obvious suggestions make him shut down completely.

And Jess? She just needs to go home. The kid’s got nerve, Bobby will give her that, but she is more motivated by fear than anything else. She is a casualty waiting to happen if she stays involved with the search, possession tattoo or none. Bobby has been fixing up a car for her in his spare time, and when it’s done, he plans on giving her a story to feed to the cops and her family, and then sending her on her way.

* * *

 

There has to be something they missed, some stone unturned.  Jess is determined to find it.

She decides to make the pitch during the morning, when Bobby has yet to disappear into the garage or begin answering his usual barrage of phone calls, and Dean’s morning dose of caffeine hasn’t quite hit him yet.

“I think we should go up to the cabin,” she says.  “Start fresh and look for new clues.”

Dean rolls his eyes.  “I’ve been back up there twice. There’s nothing to find.”

Bobby ponders the idea and then shakes his head. “It makes as much sense as crawling back into the sewer in St. Louis, at this point.”

“Fine, I’ll go alone.”  She doesn’t want to, but she will.

Dean actually laughs. “No you won’t.  You’re not going up there at all.”

“I want to see it for myself.  Are you going to stop me?” Now she is even more determined, even if the only gain is possibly teaching Dean something about women and men and who is definitely not the boss.

Bobby sighs and speaks up before Dean has a comeback.  “Quit bickering.  I’ll come with if you want me to, Jess.  Been meaning to pay my respects to John anyway.”

 _No wonder Dean doesn’t want head up there._   Jess considers again if she should talk to Dean about the phone call and about the visit to Missouri’s, but decides against it.  _Wrong place, wrong time, as usual._

Dean sulks around the house all morning, cleaning his guns and grumbling.  But when Jess slings her bag into the back of Bobby’s pick up, she hears the familiar growl of the Chevy’s engine starting.  _I guess he is as stubborn as Sam._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally, I had a sudden burst of inspiration and finished this chapter instead of my research paper.  
> Updates will be much more frequent during the summer.
> 
> Thank you, everyone who has stuck with this fic, I hope you enjoy it.  
> Also, is anyone ready to know what Sam has been up to all this time? Cause I sure as hell am.
> 
> <3 <3 <3 Thank you for the comments/kudos/bookmarks/subscriptions/recs <3 <3 <3


	10. Interlude: Tyson

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally working on this fic again, it's a miracle.
> 
> This interlude is related to Ch 2.

_ Pulling off this mission is going to require the right body. Something charming, with a personality that is easy to impersonate. “Meg” leaves her bombshell blonde well guarded in a motel in Boston and smokes out for California. _

_ The obvious choice is the coy little coed who exchanges shy glances with Sam Winchester in biology class. She’s innocent and soft and just sad enough about her parents’ divorce that she wouldn’t put up much of a fight when Meg slipped inside. With that body, some simpering, and a couple killer blowjobs, Meg could easily take on the role of Perfect Girlfriend and then barbecue the bitch when the time comes.   _

_ The problem is, Sam Winchester has taken precautions like the son of a hunter he is. He’s laid salt under the floorboards of his apartment and painted subtle wards on the baseboards, in the cabinets, and under his bed. That’s nothing Meg can’t cross, but when she steals a homeless guy and  snoops around the apartment one afternoon, the wards are strong enough to give her headaches and make her skin sting. She tries to break a few of the sigils but only manages to ruin  most of her meat suit’s fingers. Meg can’t put up with that while she waits for her cue, so Jessica Moore can’t be her new skin. Meg ditches the apartment before Sam gets back from class and leaves the old hobo rotting in a dumpster. _

_ Less than a week later, she determines that Tyson Brady is the man for the job. On the outside, he’s a classic Stanford jock, but on the inside, depression and stress are eating at the defenses of his soul. He already weaseled his way into Sam Winchester’s life during freshman orientation, so introductions won’t even be necessary. Meg just needs some convincing excuses for Brady to drop in on Sam in the middle of the night once or twice a semester. Once the pattern is routine, and the perfect martyr is in place, Father will give the command and Meg will turn Sam’s life upside down in ash and blood. _

_ She takes Brady at a frat party when he’s trying to alleviate his pitiful human existence with cheap tequila and more cocaine than he can handle. It’s the easiest and most entertaining possession she’s made in centuries. She settles in quietly after he locks himself in the bathroom for his last bump and doesn’t bother stopping his overdose. Dead meat suits aren’t much fun, but they take less effort to control and Meg would kill him eventually. His last thoughts are full of amusing fear and regret; if he could, he’d be crying for his mother. _

_ Once the soul has left the premises, Meg practices his smile in the bathroom mirror, cleans himself up a bit, and steps back out into the party. He grabs another drink and spots Jessica Moore within a couple minutes. That girl really does seem like the perfect lamb for the grand finale, and Sam Winchester just happens to be at this party too. Well, no time like the present, right? Meg grabs Jessica’s arm abruptly and pulls her through the crowded house toward the future king. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading. Longer update coming soon.


	11. Bad Moon on the Rise

_ The last time he sees his brother, Dean is standing in a puddle of vomit and a demon is puppeting his body. He is awake, but he isn’t struggling anymore. He is watching quietly from inside his own head. He doesn’t want to draw attention to himself. _

_ Sam looks spent, like he was forced to go forty rounds in a boxing ring and then starved for days afterward. He’s kneeling on the floor and his arms are bound behind his back and leashed high on a pole so he can’t rest on the floor without dislocating his shoulders. Their captors are trying to break him. Dean is too dazed by the possession to figure out why, and the demons have been trying for so long that Dean has lost track of days altogether. _

_ Dean’s own voice strikes him with fear when the demon breaks the silence. _

_ “Sammy, we keep going round and round about this, but we aren’t getting anywhere. You know we’re not gonna just let you die,” the demon purrs. It’s trying to mimic Dean’s voice and mannerisms. He thinks it sucks at impressions. _

_ Sam’s eyes are sad and tired, but at least his dismayed expression is his own. The other demon left his body a while ago, maybe for this conversation. Maybe for another beating. _

_ “We’re gonna put pressure where it hurts until you agree to accept the job,” Dean’s voice continues, “and I think we both know where it’s really, really gonna to hurt.” _

_ Dean’s imagination offers up plenty of gorey scenarios. He pushes them all away and tries to focus on what he’s seeing. Too much thinking and the puppeteer will put him under, and then he’ll never figure out why the fuck this is happening or how to stop it. _

_ Dean’s hands move against his will and gesture to his own body. “He’s all you’ve got left, right?” _

_ Oh. Well, fuck. _

_ “Don’t,” Sam says. The word sounds less like a plea and more like a warning. _

_ “You’d rather I go after pretty little Jess instead? Well, not so pretty anymore. Believe me, you do not want to see her makeover. Don’t worry, we’ll put her out of her misery. She’s next on the list.” _

_ Sam leans forward, straining against his bonds defiantly, and Dean worries that his shoulders will dislocate. _

_ “Killing my family will get you nothing,” Sam spits. “The answer’s still no.” _

_ Atta boy, Sammy. _

_ The demon inside Dean snarls. “Say your goodbyes, kid.” _

_ Sam doesn’t break. He says nothing. Somehow, even though his brother just condemned him to death, Dean is glad. He feels proud. _

_ The last thing Dean sees before he blacks out is the tears in his brother’s eyes. _

* * *

Dean turns the stereo up so loud he can feel the rumble of John Paul Jones’s bass vibrating through the dash of his car. Still, he can’t ease his mind. He tries speeding on ahead of Bobby’s truck as a distraction too, but eventually he slows to let Bobby catch up. There’s no sense in going back to that damned cabin any sooner than necessary.

_ Goddammit, Jess, _ he thinks, chewing his lip and shaking his head.  _ Why’re you making me go back to that wretched place? _

* * *

Jess longs for California’s sun as she steps out of the truck into the dry winter cold.  The cabin is smaller than she expected, a barren shack in blank, snow-covered flatland. Dean is already picking the lock when she ascends the uneven steps. Bobby walks further out into the snow to stand solemnly at the piled stones that serve as John’s grave marker.

Dean was right, there is nothing new to find, and it’s evident from Jess’s first glance inside. Still, her heart pounds as she steps in to get a closer look. The sparse furniture is broken and turned over. The hastily drawn wards are ruined by cracked floorboards. The remnant of what she thinks is a spell is in the corner, spilled over and disgusting. There are shotgun shells scattered beneath the windows.

_ Sam fought for his life here.  _ The thought settles heavily in her heart, and she brushes her fingers along the wall as she circles the room, searching for his presence. She senses nothing.

“Are you done?” Dean asks, after she stops in the middle of the room and turns around helplessly a few times. He looks detached from the place.

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m done.” She walks out and takes a deep breath of cold air. It stings her lungs.

Dean locks the door and passes her to join Bobby with hands in his pockets and head down. Jess hesitates before following.

“We never did agree on much, but I still had a lot of respect for your dad,” Bobby says quietly.

Dean nods, chewing the inside of his cheek as he stare down at the grave. 

Bobby’s phone vibrates in his pocket. He glances at the number. “Roadhouse.”

“Better take it, then,” Dean mutters.

Bobby walks back toward his truck as he answers his phone. Jess steps a little closer to Dean and tugs at her knit hat to better protect her ears from the cold.

“I talked to John once on the phone.  He said –“

“Bobby told me.”

“He said he was proud of you,” she finishes. “Really proud.”

She starts to reach for Dean’s hand, but he turns his back on the grave and walks back to his car. She stays a minute longer to clear the snow from the stones, and then follows.

“Something weird is going on,” Bobby says when he hangs up. 

“Our kind of weird?” Dean asks.

“Yeah. The witchy kind, specifically. Ellen says she’s got a lead that reminds her of a witch victim who was rescued mid-ritual, years ago. I think you should check it out.”

Dean scoffs. “Thought they were decent hunters.”

“They are. And good people.”

“Can’t they take care of it themselves? Why should I bother driving out there?”

“Because you need it, Dean. You need something else to focus on other than -”

“No, Bobby,” Dean interrupts sharply, “Sam’s my priority.”

“Sam’s case is cold, and you know it,” Bobby says sternly. Dean looks stricken.

It’s the cold cruel truth, and they have all known it for weeks, but hearing it out loud is like a punch to the gut. Jess half expects the argument to come to physical blows if Dean’s anger flares up, but instead he takes a step back. He swallows his grief - and maybe his pride -  and says, “Fine.  What’s the address?”

Bobby gives an understanding nod and grabs a map from his truck. He spreads it on the hood of Dean’s Chevy and they discuss details. Jess wraps her arms around herself as a weak defense against the cold, and an even weaker defense against her grief. Sam’s memory feels more faded than ever.  

She shuts her eyes, and tries to remember his smile or his laugh or how it felt to be in his embrace. Her heart comes up with nothing tangible, just a vague reminder that yes, there was a time when Sam Winchester existed but now he’s gone, just like her apartment, her car, and her hair.  

But there are pictures of him in her journal, maybe she just needs to see -

She startles when Bobby touches her arm. He frowns at the reaction worriedly before saying, “Let’s go. You and I can gonna look for counterspells back at my place while Dean checks on the vic’. Come on, now.”

Bobby doesn’t comment on the way she shakes as he guides her back to the truck. She looks at her hands and tries to make them still. Dean guns his engine and drives off without looking their way. Jess pulls herself into the cab of the truck and curls up. The drive back to the salvage yard is silent except for the humming noises of the highway. She fakes sleep off and on.

* * *

Jess’s eyes are shut when Bobby lets out a sudden curse. She looks up in time to see the mass of metal sliding toward them and blacks out when her head hits the dash.

* * *

When Jess comes to, she’s lying on icy pavement and pain is nearly all she can register. The sun is too bright. It’s blinding. She turns her head to escape the glare and the movement is so painful she cries out. Then she sees Bobby’s truck burning a couple dozen feet away. The flames are high and the black smoke is thick. Terror shudders through her and then flashbacks.  _ Sam, get out. Live. Sam, please live. _

Someone steps into view. A woman. Jess knows her face but she can’t place it.

The woman crouches beside Jess. “Hiya, Jessie.” Her eyes flicker, black and shining like beetles.

_ Demon. She’s a demon. _ Jess tries to move away but she can’t. The woman stands and puts a foot on her chest.

“We need to talk.” The woman is eclipsing the sun now. The light halos around her and shines through her pixie cut. Jess’s thoughts have been shuffled around like a deck of cards, but suddenly she knows who is above her.  _ The hitchhiker. _

“Meg,” she chokes out.

“That’s me,” Meg says, and applies more pressure to Jess’s chest. “Where’s the gun?”

“What gun?”

“ _ The gun. _ Samuel Colt’s gun. The one John Winchester told you about before I fed him to my father’s hounds. Where the fuck is it?”

“I - I don’t know. I don’t know, I -”

Meg puts more weight on Jess’s chest, and Jess screams. “I couldn’t hear him! I d-don’t know!”

There’s a  _ pop  _ sound at a distance and the bottom half of Meg’s face explodes. She stumbles back from Jess and screams in anger, ruined jaw hanging loose and blood spilling down over her throat. More gunshots ring out, but Meg disappears and the bullets pass through nothing.

Jess breathes in a few painful breaths and then calls out, “Bobby?”

“He hiked up the road to find cell service after he pulled you out of the wreck,” Dean answers, as he runs to her. “He called me. We’ll pick him up. Can you move? How bad is it?”

“I-I don’t know.”

Dean kneels to check her over. “Can you feel that?” he asks, touching over her legs.

“No...fuck, I can’t.  Sam, I can’t -” Her breath quickens with panic.

Dean doesn’t notice her slip, he’s more focused on helping her. “Calling an ambulance is risky. The whole crew could be possessed. There’ll be cops. But if I move you…”

“Do it.”

“You sure?” His eyes are sharp with adrenaline and fear, but his expression is soft with concern. He looks like his brother.

“We have to get out of here.”

Dean nods, and then hauls her into his arms. The pain brings her mind back to Sam, the way he carried her too; out of the fire and onto the grass that felt like shards of glass against her burns.  _ I’ll be right back, Jess. I have to help Dean.  _ And then he was gone. Tears come, and then vertigo. She falls down, down, down into black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't believe I have a whole chapter to post oh my god. it feels so good to have this fic going again. Thanks for reading! <3


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